Roses Blooming
by Anawey
Summary: Erik, Christine, Arabelle, and Nadir are on their way to America. What awaits them? And what happens when ANOTHER de Chagny comes into their lives? I just realized, this should have a higher rating... Oopsies..
1. On the Horizon

Roses Blooming 

Erik, Christine, Arabelle, and Nadir are on their way to America. What awaits them? And what happens when _another _de Chagny comes into their lives?

Disclaimer; I own nothing, but Arabelle, and Zarifa, Phantom, Philippe, Jillianna, and a whole bunch of other random people who will all be seen in later chapters.

And now, the story starts!

On the Horizon  
XxX

Erik sighed. Three weeks at sea, and he was longing for a change of scenery.

"Everything's changed, hasn't it?" he sighed when he felt Nadir walk up next to him.

"It isn't necessarily for the worst, Erik," the Persian reminded him.

"Of course it's not," Erik agreed. "I wasn't implying that, daroga. I'm merely amazed at how drastic the change has been. I've known since before I met Christine that something monumental was coming." He laughed lightly. "Who would have thought it would be this?"

Nadir smiled. Erik had changed so much since Christine. He was kinder now, warmer, gentler, and much harder to anger. Perhaps his health would be next to improve in this new life.

"And is it what you expected?" Nadir asked, gazing out at the waters.

"No," Erik replied. "And wipe that look of horror off your face, Nadir; I don't mean that I hate this life. Quite the contrary, really. I'd always thought it would feel artificial, if it ever occurred at all. And it feels so real; so incredibly, disastrously, _beautifully _real, sometimes I close my eyes and expect to wake in my coffin."

Nadir looked out at the sea. He could easily hear Erik's unspoken words, the silent end to his last sentence; _alone in the darkness, again. _But Erik had always been a bit easier to read, when his mask was off, of course. Even through his body posture, his moods could be read, at times.

"You know, Nadir," Erik sighed, "I believe this _may _all be dream after all. Perhaps I _did _die the night Christine came to me. Perhaps this is my Hell; finally obtaining what I always longed for, only to realize it was merely an illusion. What torturous pain that would be..."

He looked away, and Nadir realized that this was one of Erik's incredibly rare vulnerable moments. The Persian hadn't witnessed many of these moments, and he treated them as delicately as possible; it was in these moments especially that Erik's moods went from one extreme to the other, and that murderous red tinted his vision.

"This is no illusion, Erik," Nadir said quietly. "You have earned this."

"How?" Erik scoffed. "By being a ghost for twenty years? A murdering monster? 'Angel of Doom' _hardly _seems to cry 'you'll get a reward in the end for this'."

"But you never lost sight of yourself, my friend," Nadir responded. "You only did what you had to. Think of it. What would have become of Christine had you died in Persia? And don't say she'd be with the viscount, Erik. He'd never have recognized her. It was her voice - tutored by _you - _that struck the cord of memory."

Erik sighed and shook his head, a small, almost sad grin on his face.

"If you are right," he whispered, "I can only hope it lasts."

The thought of what could have been Christine's fate - alone, unknown, forever lost - made him ache for his precious wife. Oh, he loved her! And through her, he had Arabelle, and he longed to hold his baby girl in his arms.

"Where are you going?" Nadir asked as Erik turned.

"To see my family," Erik replied simply, offering a small smile as he walked away.

When he reached his room, he could see through the door he cracked open Christine sitting at the porthole window with Arabelle. She was reading a story to the young girl.

His heart ached; he suddenly felt like an intruder, just watching them, but he was unwilling to break the moment. Christine saw him, though, and she smiled, setting Arabelle on the bed and opening her arms for her husband.

Erik held her to him, and kissed her soundly. Christine picked up at once on his almost desperate mood, and frowned in concern.

"Erik, what is it?" she asked worriedly.

He shook his head.

"It's nothing, _mon ange," _he assured, walking to where Arabelle sat, and scooping her into his arms. "Just the silly musings of an old man."

Christine sighed.

"You're not old, Erik. You're barely fifty two."

Erik scoffed, then pressed Arabelle to his chest and stroked her hair.

"That's old enough, love," he sighed.

Christine frowned again.

"Erik, something is the matter," she said firmly. "_Please _tell me!"

Erik shook his head, and kissed her forehead.

"I have told you, Christine," he said gently. He smiled, and the dejectedness seemed to leave him. "I just needed to see you and Arabelle."

Christine smiled at knowing that _she _could make his melancholy vanish.

"I'm here," she promised. "For always."

Erik smiled slightly.

"Thank you," he whispered, sitting at the porthole, and pointing to a seagull on the water. "Do you see, my loves?"

Christine laughed lightly, and sat next to him as Ayesha curled up on the rounded window sill.

-

-

Another week passed, and with it's end came the roughest waves of the journey thus far.

At least Erik wasn't the only one who was almost constantly nauseous in the following week.

The rolling seas turned his stomach, and he vomited into the toilet.

Christine gently rubbed his back, and fought back a laugh at a particular thought that floated through her head; _now he knows how it was for me with Arabelle._

Erik groaned, and let Christine pull him close to her, so that his head rested on her shoulder.

"Do you feel better, _aimer?" _she whispered, running her hand gently through his soft, thin hair.

Erik nodded slowly (he'd learned last time that nodding too quickly would make him dizzy, or rather, doing anything too quickly just after vomiting made him dizzy - not to mention aggravate his current headache), and buried his face in Christine's neck.

"I love you, Christine," he sighed, voice muffled.

Christine kissed his temple, and wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead with a cloth.

"And I, you, Erik, love," she replied gently, pressing him closer. "Why don't you come lay down?" She pulled him to his feet and directed him back to their bed, where she sat beside him, and stroked his hair gently.

"How much longer?" Erik groaned.

Christine smiled sympathetically.

"It will pass, Erik," she assured him.

She stood, and went to the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth, which she draped over Erik's forehead.

Erik smiled, and took her hand, gently kissing her knuckles.

"You are wonderful, my love," he sighed.

The boat rolled suddenly, and Erik's eyes went wide as his stomach lurched. He stumbled quickly back into the bathroom, and heaved.

Christine cringed at the sound, and stood, walking to his side. She knelt beside him and rubbed his back again, humming softly under her breath as she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Erik's heart beat heavily, and he groaned, sagging against the wall, one hand resting on his chest as he took several deep breaths.

Christine's insides clenched.

_Please, God, no!_

"Erik?" she asked, almost frantic. "Erik, what is it? What's wrong?"

Her hand clutched the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, concern and frightened tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm alright," he assured quietly. "Just need a moment..."

"Erik..." Christine whispered sadly. She turned and leaned against his shoulder, sitting against the wall with him, and gently stroking his hair. "Do you want the medicine?"

Erik shook his head.

"It's fine," he repeated gently, kissing her temple. "Thank you though, my love. For caring so. I love you."

"I love you, as well, Erik," Christine replied, nuzzling his neck. "You truly make me worry, sometimes."

"I'm sorry, Christine."

Erik's voice was soft and sincere, truly contrite over worrying her.

"Erik, _mon ange de musique, _it's hardly your fault," Christine countered, pulling him to his feet, and leading him back to the bed. She let him lay down, then tucked the blankets up around him tenderly. "Don't you get upset for my sake, love."

Erik closed his eyes, smiling, and leaned into her hand when she stroked his hair back from his forehead.

_Now I know how Ayesha feels when Christine or I pet her._

_-_

_-_

Cold winds blew in by September's end. No snow fell, but the air was chill.

Erik stood on the deck, Arabelle warmly dressed, and held in his arms.

A single seagull flew overhead, and Arabelle laughed, pointing.

"Birdie!" Arabelle squealed, calpping gloved hands.

Erik smiled, and kissed her dark curls.

"Ah, _mon pur précieux peu d'amour," _he sighed, burying his face in her black hair.

Arabelle let out a sigh of her own, and wound her arms around Erik's neck.

"Papa," she breathed, smiling and closing her eyes, cheek resting over her father's heart.

Erik pressed her close, and stroked her hair.

"You are my life, little angel," he whispered. "My very life."

Arabelle shifted, and nuzzled closer to Erik's chest with a yawn rather large for one so small. Erik's heart melted, and he kissed her head again, starting to sing softly.

_"Speed bonny boat like a bird on a wing.  
'Onward' the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king,  
over the sea to Skye._

_Loud the waves howl,  
loud the winds roar.  
Thunderclaps rend the air.  
Baffled, our foes,  
stand on the shore.  
Follow, they will not dare._

_Speed bonny boat like a bird on a wing.  
'Onward' the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king,  
over the sea to Skye._

_Though the waves leap,  
soft shall we sleep,  
close in a royal bed.  
Rocked in the deep,  
Papa will keep,  
watch by your weary head._

_Oh, speed bonny boat like a bird on a wing.  
'Onward' the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king,  
over the sea to Skye._

_Carry the lass of my heart who is queen,  
over the sea  
to Skye..."_

Of course, he'd changed the last bit, about a lass, and his heart, but that was what he felt. Arabelle meant the world and more to him. She was the proof of how much Christine loved him. She was _a part _of _him. _He'd never thought he'd have children - never had the audacity to even fantasize about such things - and Arabelle was, in his eyes, nothing short of a miracle he did not deserve.

The song he'd sung he learned when he'd returned to Normandy, in the years beofore the opera house. It was longer, going on about the battle of Culloden in 1745, and talking of the resulting death and torment the Scottish people had consequently undergone, but Arabelle was too young to hear that. So he stopped on only the second verse.

He stood on the deck at the railing for a long time, watching the early afternoon sun sparkle over the water. In his arm's, Arabelle slept peacefully. It was her naptime, after all.

Her soft little mouth was slightly open, her hands tucked around his neck, stray curls falling over her face.

"Dearest," Erik breathed, kissing her temple and resting his head against her's.

He felt her presence just moments before the slender arm curled around his shoulders, and his love's head pressed against his chest next to Arabelle's.

"Christine," Erik smiled, bending his head to catch her lips in a long, gentle, loving kiss.

"So this is where you've been," Christine sighed, returning her head to his chest. "Your cat misses you."

Erik smiled.

"I think my _wife _misses me," he smirked. "Come. I think this voyage has made us all require afternoon rests."

Christine smiled. Likely there would be more of cuddling and kissing, hands in hair, than sleeping.

Erik smiled as they walked down to their room.

Arabelle he placed in the crib when they arrived, and sat on the bed. He took off his shoes and vest, and pulled the blanket over his lower body, holding open his arms for Christine to do the same.

She went straight to him, and curled into his side, her legs under the blankets.

Erik held her close, breathing in the soft scent of his hair.

"I love you, Chrisitne," he whispered. "I love you."

-

-

Tears in his eyes, Erik stroked back Christine's hair, taking a cloth, and wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead.

It was the middle of October now, and Christine had caught a tiny cold. Erik's reaction had been very strong, and made Christine very worried for him. He had nearly had a panick attack when he learned she was ill, and since then, he'd been tense, and frantic over her. Though the cold was weak, and had lasted only two days so far, with the fever already started to come down slightly, Erik fretted, and fussed over her in obvious concern.

"Erik," Christine soothed, reaching up and gently rubbing his arm, "I'm alright. It's only a little cold, my darling. Please don't worry so. You know it isn't good for your health."

"Oh, _damn _my health!" Erik snapped. "You're ill, and it is _all _my fault!"

Christine took his hand with one hand, and with the other, cupped his cheek.

"Erik, it's not your fault," she assured him. "And how can you not care about yourself? You must, my love. I don't want to lose you. Not now. You're looking too frazzled, _mon bien ange. _Why don't you lie down with me for a little?"

Erik was just too tired to fight her tonight, so he lay down beneath the blankets, and pulled Christine next to him, making sure she was warm, and covered well.

"I am _so _sorry, Christine," he whispered, holding her tight in trembling arms. "I should have _seen _that you were feeling poor! I had plenty of time to see before it came to this!"

"Erik, please," Christine insisted. "You'll worry yourself right into an attack, my love." She could feel the tensness of his muscles beneath his thin skin, and in his chest, she could hear his heartbeat; faster than normal, the skip bordering on irratic. It really wasn't good for Erik to worry so much.

Erik took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, eyes closed as his shoulders shook slightly.

Chrisine coughed lightly, and Erik was up at once, and back at her side in a moment with a handkerchief in case she needed it.

"Christine...." he moaned, running a hand over her warm face.

"I'm alright, Erik," Christine said gently. "I'll be better soon, I promise you, love. Now lay down with me before you collapse."

Worried, but not wanting to upset Christine, Erik returned to laying beside her, holding his wife close, and kissing her nose.

-

-

As Christine had assured him, she was better in the next two days, though Erik would not let her out of their room until he was certain she was better.

When he took her up on deck, Arabelle in Christine's arms, Nadir was standing at the bow, watching the distant horizon.

"Hello, Nadir," Christine greeted with a smile.

Nadir turned, and beamed.

"Good to see you up, Christine," he said.

Erik nodded in agreement, and kissed Christine's temple lovingly.

"Has it really been almost four months on this ship?" Chrisine asked, looking at the two men and her daughter.

It was mid-November now, and soon they would be hitting land.

"I know, my love," Erik smiled, wrapping an arm around Christine's and rubbing gently.

"A new life awaits," Nadir sighed, looking back out at the ocean. It would be another week before they saw land, but soon they would be in America. Soon they would begin completely new lives.

XxX  
Chapter one of the sequel is complete! The next should be out soon, I hope. I hope you all liked it, and review, please! Reviews make me giggle...

Oh! Did anyone catch the chapter title? It's a throw-back to my Lord of the Rings obsession. heh...


	2. New

Oh! I don't own the song from last chapter. Whoever wrote the lyrics a couple hundred years ago does. And Bristol, Connecticut, for anyone who's never heard of it, is real. It's where I live.

New  
XxX

Someone called 'land', and then everyone on the ship was up at the prow, watching as the distant horizon became a line of dark between water and sky.

Erik, Christine, Arabelle, and Nadir were up right in front, watching. Erik had Arabelle in one arm, the other around his wife's waist.

_Thank God we'll soon be off this bloody ship, _he thought, remembering his seasickness, and Christine's little illness with a frown. He would be glad to get off the boat.

"A new life, love," Christine smiled, looking up at Erik adoringly. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and put her arms around him, sighing contentedly, and closing her eyes.

They would be docking late that afternoon. Erik's plan was to purchase rooms at the nearest respectable inn ('No _way _is my family going to sleep in the same building as a lot of sailors. God only knows the words Arabelle would learn from them, or what they'd try to do to _you _Christine!' Erik had been very vocal about his wishes to protect his small family), and in the morning, look for postings on any houses for sale.

As Erik and Christine packed their things, Erik's mind whirled. His thoughts flew everywhere, and his heart raced as it used to when he was young and travelling. A new life, a new _world, _where no one would know him, or Christine. No one would know any of them. They were free now. Finally, he could get rid of his past, and break away from all the torment of his younger years.

Christine's hands trembled in excitement. From an early age, she'd always wanted to see America. She'd wondered since she'd first seen it on a map at Mama Valerius's house just what it would be like to live there. Well, she was here now, and she couldn't wait.

But the reality went beyond the little childhood dream. She was with _her family. _Her _husband _and _child. _It amazed her that in not even three years, she'd gone from an unknown dancer at the Paris Opera house, to Primadonna, to wife and mother. How life had had it's way with her! And she loved it. Every moment with Erik was magic, and every second around Arabelle was like a dream.

Ayesha whined when Erik placed her into the carrier, and glared at him.

"I'm sorry, my darling," he whispered, "but you must be safe." He rubbed her nose through the bars on the front, then went back to packing.

Finally, it was time to get off. As they left the ship, Erik could see people on the dock staring at his mask. Slightly disillusioned with America now, and frightened of rejection in this last-ditch attempt at a life, he pulled the hood of his cape over his head, down just far enough that it shadowed his face enough that the mask could be mistaken as real.

Christine stopped him at once, and reached under the hood to cup his face in her hands.

"Erik, please, don't hide anymore, my love," she whispered gently, stroking the unmasked side of his jaw. "You once told me that as long as I was with you, you would never hide again." Slowly, she pulled back his hood, and smiled lovingly at him. "Be strong, my love, my Erik. Be strong for me and Arabelle."

Christine took her daughter from Nadir and gently placed her in her father's arms. Arabelle at once wrapped her arms around Erik's neck, and pressed her head against his chest, hearing in her little ear his heartbeat.

"Bump!" she giggled, touching the place over his heart.

Erik laughed, and kissed her forehead.

"Dearest," he sighed, pressing her close against him.

People continued to stare, but not for long. Each individual looked quickly away when the yellow-eyed little girl in the masked man's arms glowered with a fierce intelligence.

"Papa special," she whispered when the stares became even more poignant, and people began to mutter. "Not a fweak."

There was a definite pout to Arabelle's pretty voice as she breathed into her father's ear her childish-ly spoken words of comfort, not unlike Christine's in their intent.

Erik stroked her hair, and pressed her head back against his chest. He needed her to be strong. His heart pounded beneath his ribs, and his entire body was flooded with the instinct to run and hide from the obviously suspicious people they passed. But one small portion of his mind remained clear, screaming loudly that he had to stay by Chritsine's side. Only Arabelle's light little body cradled against his heart kept him from ignoring that shrill voice and sliding into the shadows.

"Excuse me, monsieur," Christine called, stopping a man in a shirt and vest. "Where might we find an inn that would be a bit safer for a small child?"

"Someplace more respectable than seaside taverns," Erik muttered darkly from behind his wife. He'd seen several men standing at doors to taverns, and the way each had leered at Christine before retreating at the sight of _him, _Erik would not want his dear Christine be anywhere near such people, let alone precious little Arabelle.

"Well, miss," the man began, looking admiringly at Christine.

"It's _madam," _Christine corrected, stepping back and taking one of Erik's hands.

"Ma'am, then," the man began again. "The Mystic Inn's a right nice place. They run it respectable like. Just up 'round the corner there. Got plenty o' rooms. Bit expensive, though."

Christine shook her head, and began walking in the direction the man had indicated, still holding Erik's hand.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered, sensing the tenseness in his hand. "Do not worry about such men, my love."

She stopped and turned to face him. Intentionally disregarding the rules of society, she kissed him softly, with all the love she had for him.

The kiss, and her assurance of her affections seemed to have an effect on Erik, and he smiled, gently brushing his fingers over her cheek.

"This is why I do not like men like him," he said softly. "If one took advantage of you, I don't know what I'd do. Well, yes, I do know, but I'm not about to say it around Arabelle."

Christine laughed lightly.

"Remember your promise," she teased as they began walking again.

The Mystic Inn was a fair sized place. A good fifteen rooms, and served breakfast as well.

They reserved their rooms, and Christine and Erik ordered breakfast in theirs.

Erik gently set Arabelle on the bed, and pulled out the small trundle bed that was underneath the canopied bed in corner.

Outside, the sun was setting, and it was beginning to get dark. Arabelle laughed and pointed to the sunset.

"Pretty!" she cried, beaming.

Erik laughed, and swept her into his arms, walking to the window.

"Isn't it, darling?" he agreed, holding her close to the window as she reached out and placed a slender little hand aganist the pane.

Christine smiled, and moved to stand beside her husband.

"Such a beautiful sight," she sighed, resting a hand on Erik's shoulder. "A father and his little girl."

Erik looked at her sidelong.

"You are part of it, as well, Christine," he reminded her. "Without you, none of this would have been." He turned, and wrapped an arm around her, sighing when Christine returned his embrace.

"A new life," Christine whispered, smiling and leaning more into him. "And one with you."

Erik pressed his lips to her forehead.

"You _are_a romantic, aren't you, love?" he teased gently.

Christine pouted, and stuck her tongue out at him.

Erik laughed.

"God, I love you," he sighed.

In his arms, Arabelle yawned sleepily, and snuggled against her father. Erik kissed her cheek, and turned to tuck her into the trundle.

"I believe, Erik," Christine began, smiling, "that your daughter has the right idea." She moved closer to her husband, and cupped his face in her hands, pulling his mask off. "The journey was difficult on _all _of us, my love. And you look so exhausted."

It was true. Erik's usually shadowy eyes were even darker, and though it was only very slight, his shoulders seemed to slope down more than when he was at his best. It was clear to Christine that he needed sleep.

Erik smiled softly.

"Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?" he whispered, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. "You sound as though I already said I was not coming to bed."

"You worry me," Christine told him quietly. "Your _health _worries me. You really ought to take better care of yourself, my love."

Erik kissed her nose softly. He knew she was right, but agreeing with her on such a subject only seemed to make her worry more, so he said nothing. Instead, he took her hand, and walked with her to the bed, where he lay down, and pulled her down with him.

"I promise, Christine," he started, looking right into her blue eyes. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I won't die until Arabelle's children are grown. I'll make sure of that. Don't you worry about me so much, my love. So long as I have you, and Arabelle, I'll live."

"Erik," Christine sighed, burying her head against his chest. "I can't _not _worry about you, love. You don't eat enough, still, you don't sleep enough either. What if you have an attack and Arabelle sees? She's only a year, but already you're inseparable. You really must take better care of yourself. Medicine can only go so far, Erik."

Erik kissed her again.

"Alright," he whispered. "I doubt I could eat an entire pound steak in one sitting, but I promise to eat and sleep more. For you, and for Arabelle. Without the two of you, I'm quite positive I'd be dead by now."

"Erik!" Christine gasped. "I know it doesn't mean much because things turned out different, but don't say such things, especially not right before bed, love. No one can control their dreans," she added much quieter.

Erik felt immediately guilty for upsetting Christine. She had done so much for him, after all.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, pulling her close.

"It's alright, Erik," Christine whispered. "Sleep, love. Good night."

"Good night, Christine. My life."

-

-

It seemed luck was on their side. In a little town, perhaps a day's carriage ride, there were two houses for sale. Both were smaller, but plenty.

The ride was easy and comfortable, and that night, they pulled up to the inn in the town where they would live; Bristol, Connecticut.

Christine had fallen asleep on the ride, and Erik didn't have the heart to wake her. Nadir took Arabelle, so Erik could concentrate on pulling his sleeping wife into his arms, and cradling her close.

She woke when Erik set her gently on the bed.

"Shh," he breathed, pushing back her hair. "Sleep, my dear Christine." Erik kissed softly, and tucked in Arabelle. "Sleep, little darling," he whispered into her forehead as he kissed her, too.

Erik sighed as he pulled off his shirt, and slid into bed beside his wife.

"My Christine," he mumbled sleepily, pulling her close as he drifted off.

-

-

It snowed the next morning. Not heavily, so they still chose to go and see about the houses.

The homes were not right next to each other, but nor were they across town.

"You can visit us whenever you like, Nadir!" Christine gushed, beaming. "Can't he, Erik?"

Erik smiled at the sparkling innocent excitement in her eyes.

"Of course," he replied. "I expect he'll want to keep an eye on me."

Nadir smirked.

"You'll always need a conscience, my friend. Whether you like it, or not."

Erik laughed, and looked to the man selling the house.

"We'll take it."

The house was of a modest size. It had a fireplace in the living room, and in the master bedroom (which Christine had been secretly grateful for; at Erik's age, and with his health, it was a given that illness would come much more easily, and thus, he would have to be kept warm in the winter), and three bedrooms. None of the rooms were terribly large, but they were more than sufficient for the three of them.

Of course, they needed furniture. It was early enough in the day, and there were stores open.

The bed Christine liked best was certainly Erik's favorite as well. A rich, dark wood, four poster with a soft mattress, it was perfect. And so was the small bed they'd bought Arabelle. A lighter color, but just as sturdy.

"You know," Christine sighed as they decided on the couch for the living room, "I wish Nadir would have opted to come with us."

Erik smiled and kissed her temple.

"He wanted to get settled himself, my dear," he replied. "Lucky devil. The sellers decided to buy all new furnishings for the new house, and left their old things to him."

Christine laughed.

"At least we get to choose ours, love."

"Quite right, Christine," Erik agreed.

-

-

Arabelle yawned sleepily, curling into Erik's shoulder as he carried her to the second bedroom. It was larger than the third, but a bit smaller than Erik and Christine's. Of the two remaining rooms, it was also the closest, should Arabelle need her parents in the night.

"Papa, love you," she mumbled as Erik set her down in the small bed he'd bought her.

He smiled, felt the tears start, but blinked them back. He'd thought he'd gotten used to hearing such words. It just went to show, he supposed, how emotional being with Christine had made him.

Erik kissed his daughter's cheek, and tucked the blankets close around her little body.

"I love you, too, my darling little angel," he whispered. "Good night."

Christine was waiting for him in their new bed. She smiled when she saw him, and held out her arms for him to come to her.

"She slept not a minute after I'd set her down," Erik told her. "She's a wonderful little dear, isn't she?"

"Yes, love," Christine agreed. "Good night Erik."

Erik smiled and kissed his wife softly.

"Good night, Christine."

Erik watched her sleep for a while. His mind was working, and keeping him up.

After fifty years, he finally had a chance for a normal life. He could finally be like other men. He had a _family. His own family. _And tomorrow started a new life for them. Tomorrow, he would wake up, and never again look farther back in his life than the day he met Christine.

For the first time in a long time, he slept deeply, in his new home, at the beginning of his new life.

XxX  
I love cuteness. I'm sorry if anyone doesn't like fluff, but there's gotta be some. Anyway, I hope you all liked it, and review, please!


	3. Winter's Snow

Winter's Snow  
XxX

Things had gone smoothly for the most part since they'd come to Bristol. And though it wasn't quite to the extent she'd wanted, Erik's health _had _improved; he'd only had two attacks in the three years they'd been there.

And with the passage of time, Arabelle had only become closer to her father, loving him with all her heart. When she wasn't sleeping in her room - part of which was a turret, where she had her bed - she was at Erik's side, learning anything and everything he had to teach her. She was just three, and already she could play simple melodies on the piano they'd bought.

Erik didn't work. After his first attack, in the first week they'd lived in Bristol, she had insisted he stay home, where he would feel the least amount of stress, and attacks were less likely to come.

Christine sang in a theatre in the town of Thomaston, not too very far from their home town; only ten miles, perhaps half an hour by carriage. She made enough money, she'd often assured him, for the three of them to survive. And with what stores Erik still had left from Paris and before, they had plenty.

His second attack had come two months ago. An older child had taken Arabelle's prize possession; A bear Erik had made her, which sang (he had managed a recording device so that even if _he _couldn't sing for his little angel, she could still hear his voice) when one hugged it. The older boy had kept it from her till she cried, and Erik had stormed out, angry and yelling.

The boy's father had come up then, and there was arguing. Erik grew frustrated. He didn't want this. He didn't want trouble, but no matter where he went, it followed him.

The man took a swing at him when he called the boy a brat, and Erik had no choice but to defend himself. It proved a bit too much. Christine had come running out when Arabelle raced to her in tears with some story of her father fighting someone, but it was over. The other man was stumbling away with his son, and Erik was down on one knee, clutching his chest in pain, and glaring after the pair.

Fortunately, both attacks had been small, and not very damaging. Each time, it had only taken Erik a few days before he was back on his feet. But Christine still worried. And she began to notice a trend; it seemed his attacks mostly came in the fall or winter, when his already poor health was even more delicate. He hadn't gotten sick in the time they had been here, but Christine couldn't believe it would last.

And Arabelle. She had grown even more since they'd arrived. She had clearly inherited Erik's intelligence. Not perhaps to her father's extent, but certainly close. They were still new enough that she hadn't made any true friends yet, but Christine was sure they would come.

Arabelle was obviously musical. She was always humming, or listening to Erik play. She would sit at his side as he played some song on the piano, watching his fingers slide gracefully over the keys. Every now and again, he would look down at her, and smile. And when Arabelle sat beside him at night, he would play until she fell asleep, and then carry her gently up to her room.

At the moment, they were playing outside, in the January snow, Christine watching from the window. Normally, she would have gone out and join them, but today, she was a bit behind in getting lunch ready.

They meant so much to her, the little girl and the man. Her daughter and husband. They were building a snowman, both bundled warmly - at Christine's insistence to keep them both safe (especially Erik; he was fifty five, now, after all) - and laughing.

Under her hat, Arabelle's deep black curls hung down from under her hat bouncing as she patted at the snowman's face to smooth out a rough patch.

Erik smiled fondly at her precision as he fixed one of the arms in place. She was humming softly, singing under her breath the little song her bear sung.

_My salvation, _he thought, emotions rising. Christine had saved him, yes, but he firmly believed it was raising Arabelle that would redeem him of what he'd done in the past, justified or not. It was bringing her up right that gave him the hope of being able to see his family in the next life as well as this one.

_God, I love her. _

Arabelle stopped, and took a step back, looking at the snowman.

"Papa, he needs a hat!" she exclaimed, tugging the one off her head, and reaching to put it on the snowman.

Erik laughed, and took the hat, situating it back on her head.

"Not yours, dearest, you'll freeze! Here." He produced a top hat from beneath his cape, and held Arabelle up so she could reach the top of the snowman.

Giggling, Arabelle reached out, and placed the hat on their snowman, then squirmed around so she was hugging her papa.

When he set her down, she grinned up at him, and dropped back in the snow, sliding her arms and legs back and forth.

"Papa, it's a angel!" she chirped, pointing and beaming up at her father. "You make one!"

Erik laughed, and got down in the snow, mimicking Arabelle's movements. He knew what to do, but he'd never done it before. He'd never been allowed to play outside as a child, and it was beyond words, how wonderful this all felt. And to know that he was a _father.... _Even after four years, it still amazed him.

He stood up slowly, feeling his joints stiffen slightly (he _was _fifty-five, now).

"Beautiful, Papa!" Arabelle cried, wrapping her arms around Erik's waist, and pressing her face into his side. Erik laughed, and returned the embrace with smile, bending low to kiss her head.

With a thoughtful look, Christine looked back at lunch. It was basically done. She turned off the stove, and hurried out to the hall to put on her outerwear, and walked out to the corner of the house.

Peaking around the edge, she could see her husband and daughter making snow angels. Smirking, she crouched down, and scooped up a bit of snow, moulding it into a ball, and taking aim.

Erik jolted as the cold ball smacked into the back of his neck, and he squirmed when some of the snow slid down the inside of his shirt, crying out in shock.

Turning, he saw the tips of curly brown hair slip back around the corner of the house, and he motioned Arabelle to be silent, and stay where she was.

As silent as the grave, he knelt, and formed a ball of snow, stepping carefully toward the side of the house where he'd seen Christine. He chanced a quick glance around the corner, and saw his wife, crouched by the door, shaking with laughter, not facing him.

Grinning, Erik threw the snowball, and was about to duck back around the house when a much smaller one thumped into the back of his head. He turned, and found Arabelle standing there, giggling like the innocent four-year-old she was.

Erik smirked, and, ignoring Christine behind him, began chasing Arabelle around the yard, loving the sound of her laughter.

With her jolty, childish gait, snow flew up from under Arabelle's boots as she ran, Erik barely a foot behind her. He savored every happy shriek, treasuring the moment when he caught her in his arms, laughing as he tickled her and pulled her up against his chest, kissing her sweet face over and over.

"You caught me, Papa!" Arabelle laughed, throwing her arms around Erik's neck, and kissing his cheek.

They lived a good ways from any other house, and as long as they stayed where they lived, outside, or in, Erik's mask remained off. The one time he'd tried to wear it, Arabelle had been terrified, and run from him, afraid that a monster had taken her papa's place. It was only after he removed the porcelain face that Arabelle had calmed. She had insisted, though, on sleeping with her parents that night, because she feared the monster would come to her dreams.

Erik laughed brightly.

"Ah, _mon coeur petit," _he sighed, "of course I caught you. I'll always catch you, dearest. Whenever you need me to."

Erik kissed her again, and spun around in a little dance, chuckling as his daughter giggled.

_Oh, my darling. My sweet little darling. Sometimes I wonder that we don't grow wings and fly away, you, mama, and I._

Red-cheeked and windswept, Arabelle buried her face in Erik's chest, the word 'papa' sliding from her lips in a small sigh. Erik kissed her forehead, and pressed her closer.

The crunching of snow alerted him Christine's presence, and he turned to see her just behind him, smiling gently, a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Come inside, Erik," she urged softly, taking his arm and tugging lightly. "Lunch is ready. Your hands are like _ice," _she added, frowning as she took his free hand and rubbed it, trying her best to warm the elegantly long, pale fingers through her mittens and his gloves. "Come inside now, before you catch your death." Christine avoided mentioning the possibility of Arabelle falling ill, as that was a very tender subject with Erik. He always became tense, and anxious when anything seemed to go wrong with their daughter, easily upset or riled. Erik really was very protective of his little girl.

Erik nodded, curling his fingers around Christine's hand, and allowing her to lead him and Arabelle back into the warmth of their house.

Christine helped the both of them out of their coats, and pulled Erik to his chair as Arabelle scrambled up into his lap. When they were both settled, she lit the fire, and went to check on the food.

"Sit and warm up dears," Christine instructed with a gentle kiss on Erik's lips, and Arabelle's head. "I'll get everything ready."

Lunch, for the most part, was quiet. Quiet, but warm. There was love between the three of them. And Erik, for all his insecurities, felt it was safe to say he had found his happy ending.

As he tucked Arabelle in to bed that night, and kissed her black curls, he had to smile.

"Goodnight, _mon coeur petit," _he sighed from the doorway, watching as she slept. "My red rose.... my miracle."

A light hand touched his shoulder, and Erik turned to see Christine smiling at him.

"Come to bed, my love," she said gently. "You're looking a bit pale."

Erik smiled as he kissed her.

"I'm only tired, Christine," he promised.

"Will you feel up to going ice-skating tomorrow, then?"

Erik nodded.

"Of course," he replied, taking her hand and pulling them back toward their room.

-

-

Erik could ice-skate, yes, but not as good as he'd thought. As he stepped out onto the ice, he slipped, landing hard on his backside with a muffled 'oof'.

Christine, who'd skated out a bit ahead, turned back at once, and helped him back to his feet.

"Are you alright, love?" she asked worriedly. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

Erik shook his head.

"My pride, perhaps, took a bruising, but I'm fine," he replied, rubbing his rear. "Though, I may not be very comfortable with sitting down the next few days," he mused, shrugging.

"My poor darling," Christine cooed, wrapping her arms around her husband, and taking his hand. She turned and called Arabelle to them, instructing the girl to hold her father's other hand, that they would skate together.

Dressed in a red coat, hat, and mittens, edged with green fluff, with a purple dress beneath, Arabelle giggled as she wobbled over.

"You fell, Papa?" she asked, looking up at him with more concern and intelligence than a normal four-year-old should have. But, there again, Arabelle was not normal.

"I'm alright, dearest," Erik assured, smiling as he folded his larger hand around her small one. "I suppose we'll learn together, hm?"

Arabelle caught on quickly. Laughing, she darted ahead of her parents. However, having not learned how to stop before she thought to race off across the ice, she inevitably landed head-first in a snowbank.

Though something told him she was fine, Erik skated quickly to her side, and knelt as she flipped over in the snow, laughing.

"I suppose we'll have to teach you to stop," Christine smiled, coming to a stop behind Erik.

"Are you sure you're alright, dearest?" Erik asked, _almost _calm. She didn't look hurt, but she could have been.

"I'm alright, Papa," Arabelle replied, moving her arms and legs in the shape of an angel.

Erik smiled, and lifted her up into his arms, letting her turn in his embrace to see the snow-angel she'd made.

"It's beautiful, my little love," he told her, kissing her red cheek. He set her down, and took her hand, leading her back out onto the ice.

"A sharp turn of the skates," Christine said, "will stop you."

"It has to be very sharp to work, though," Erik agreed. "Or you could turn your skates into an upside down v. Personally, I think the quick turn is easier, dear one. Watch."

Erik let go of Arabelle's hand, and moved forward, then swung around back toward his family. He turned his skates quickly to the left, and immediately lost his balance, falling forward onto his hands and knees with a muffled shout of surprise.

Christine dropped beside him, and reached out for his arm as he sat back, grimacing.

"Erik, love, are you alright?" Her eyes were dark with concern, and her grip became stronger with the slight hint of panic.

Erik hissed, pulling the gloves off his hands. They were scraped, almost raw, and they stung worse in the open cold.

"I will be," he replied, taking Christine's hand, and letting her help him up. "I haven't done this for so many years."

Christine gently rubbed his arm, looking up at him.

"You're _sure _you're alright, _mon amour?"_

"Papa?"

Erik turned to Arabelle, and opened his arm for her to come to him, showing that he was fine. Arabelle practically ran to him.

The walk home was not long, but Christine insisted on a carriage, to make sure Erik didn't hurt himself any more. His knees, on inspection, were torn up a bit worse than his hands, and Christine didn't want him tripping and making matters worse.

"Papa," Arabelle asked, voice soft, "you will be okay, won't you?"

Erik smiled and cupped her cheek.

"Of course, sweet one," he assured her. "And tomorrow, would you like to come shopping with me for Christmas decorations?"

Arabelle's whole face lit up with her smile, and she nodded eagerly. She loved Christmas.

At home, Christine took peroxide to Erik's knees. He hissed, eyes clenched shut. His breath ripped in and out, and Christine paused long enough to take his mask off so it wouldn't obstruct his breathing.

"Done," Christine said gently, lightly kissing his cheek. She'd placed light bandages around the scrapes to keep out infection.

Erik smiled wryly.

"That's what I get for showing off for my family, I suppose," he sighed, standing stiffly, and limping to his chair by the fireplace. Christine stepped to his side to offer her help if he needed it, but he managed the walk from the kitchen to the living room on his own.

Arabelle sat on the floor with one of her dolls as Christine set the footstool under Erik's feet.

"You're alright?" she asked. "You didn't hurt yourself anywhere else?"

Erik took her hand with a soft smile, shaking his head.

"I'm fine, dear Christine," he assured her. "Thank you for taking care of me, my love."

"Of course, Erik. You know I always will."

They kissed, and Christine lit the fire, then sat on the end of the couch closest to Erik, knitting.

That night, Christine pressed Erik to take a mild sedative, to take the edge off the stinging. In bed, he held her close, smiling warmly.

"You are one of the two best things to ever happen to me," he whispered seriously, kissing her softly. "You and Arabelle."

Christine smiled.

"You sound as though I didn't know that," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his.

"Do you?"

Christine gently reached up and brushed her fingers over every inch of his face, feeling the smooth, mottled-looking flesh, tracing the edge of the hole of his nose, following the curve of his thin eyebrow and his bone-tight hollow cheeks.

"I do, Erik. And every day, I love you more. I am so _thankful _that I still have you, that you haven't left Arabelle and me yet -"

"I would never abandon you," Erik injected, a bit of incredulity and an edge on his quiet voice.

"You know what I mean," Christine breathed, burying her face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I was worried for you today, my love. You aren't young, and we both know there is only so much you can take..."

Erik sighed, ashamed that he'd thought she meant he hadn't walked out on them. He never would, and he knew Christine knew that. He just hadn't been thinking clearly. It was hard to do late at night, after a long day.

But Christine was worried about him again. It made him burn with shame that _he _was the one who had to be careful. Not that he _wanted _Christine to be weak - anything _but; _he would never wish her a moment of illness or exhaustion - but he _hated _that he was old, that his heart could not take as much as a husband's and father's ought to for his family, that it was still, even with the hawthorn that kept the attacks at bay for ninety percent of the time, not sensible for him to take on any sort of job he was good at to provide for his wife and child. Christine shouldn't have to work, but that was the way of it, in the end.

"You're worrying again," Erik whispered, cupping her face with his bony hand (Christine leaned into his touch with a small smile, eyes closing in obvious pleasure at the contact). "I didn't feel anything all day, Christine. Not one moment of pain, _mon ange. _Except, of course, the obvious, but that's beside the point. I'm absolutely fine, I promise you."

"I know," Christine sighed. "But I can't help it! Do you _know _what would happen to me without you, Erik? I'd be _lost! _I _need _you. God - when we thought you were - when _Arabelle was concieved - _I wanted to _die! _I was so _scared _to lose you, and that's only grown with how much I love you..."

Erik smiled comfortingly, and kissed her forehead, like a father kissing their child (he'd once told himself that whoever married Christine would have to play both lover _and _father, and it seemed, in this sort of moment, he'd been right).

"Christine, you'll give yourself nightmares, my love," Erik hushed her. "Don't talk about that night; I know it bothers you. Yes, something wonderful came from it, but if it remains a painful memory, do not mention it." He kissed her deeply, then pulled back, yellow eyes glinting softly in the dim moonlight. "Sleep, Christine," he whispered, gently touching her eyelids to close them. "Sleep, my world."

Erik held Christine close as she drifted off, pressing his face into her deep chocolate curls. The window on Christine's side of the bed was clearly visible, the curtains pulled half back to allow a bit of light in, and he could see snow falling softly in the dark night and he smiled. Tomorrow, there would be more snow, and Arabelle would be ecstatic, as would Christine.

That was the thing about his two loves; they both adored the snow.

XxX  
Heh, I had to add the bit at the end. I just love it when there are tender, comforting moments between Erik and Christine. There should have been more of them in the actual versions, rather than just in out 'phics'. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and please review.


	4. Of Nightingales and Roses

Of Nightingales and Roses  
XxX

Arabelle stretched. It was early morning, but she couldn't wait. Christmas shopping with her papa!

Throwing away the covers, she jumped out of bed and ran for the closet, rifling through for one of her better dresses.

She grinned when her hands found the green velvet, cotton-lined winter one. It was her favorite, bought by her parents for the holidays for her. She slipped it on, and bolted out her door and across the hall to her parent's room.

Arabelle opened the door, and tip-toed across the room to the bed. Smiling, she climbed up on it, and wriggled in between her parents, looking up at her father's face and smiling. _She _thought it was pretty, and unique, not scary. It was her papa. How could she be scared of him?

Erik stirred when he felt the small body worm its way up to his chest. At first he thought it might be Ayesha, but he could still feel her curled around his feet. The body was too big to be her, anyway.

_Process of ilimination, _he thought groggily, _Arabelle._

Opening his eyes, he found himself gazing down into his daughter's smiling little face. He closed his eyes again, yawning.

"What is it, baby?" he asked tiredly.

Arabelle giggled.

"You said we could go Christmas shopping today, Papa," she reminded him.

Erik sighed, but couldn't help a little smile. _So sweet and innocent. _

"Dearest," he murmured, "it's not even dawn yet."

Arabelle tilted her head slightly.

"It's too early?"

Erik nodded.

At her father's nod, Arabelle curled into his chest and closed her eyes, snuggling as close as she could.

"Can I stay with you?" she asked softly, voice slightly muffled by the sliver of skin between the lapels of Erik's nightshirt where her head was buried.

He smiled, wrapping his arms around his little girl.

"Of course, my little one," he sighed, closing his own eyes for a few hours more of rest.

-

-

About two hours later, Erik woke to gentle shaking and a soft little voice calling 'papa'. Groaning, he opened his eyes to see Arabelle, still in the green dress she'd worn when she'd come in before, with her coat on as well this time.

"Papa, come on," she called excitedly. "Mama said the stores should be open by now!"

Her enthusiasm made Erik smile. His Arabelle was just such a ball of energy.

He heard Christine call for them both to come down for breakfast, and then Arabelle was up and running, laughing brightly, innocently. Again, Erik smiled, and got out of bed, exited, too, inside, about spending the entire day with his little girl. Granted, he spent nearly every day with her, but there weren't many when they went out together. Old habits were hard to dodge, even after four years of remarkable happiness.

Arabelle sat in the chair at the table, smiling as Christine placed a bowl of warm oatmeal on the table for her.

"Thank you, Mama," the girl beamed, taking her spoon and digging in.

Christine smiled fondly. Arabelle was always so happy, it seemed. She was constantly smiling and laughing. The only times Christine had yet to see her daughter upset were the two attacks Erik had had over the last three years. And she thanked God it had only been two, though she'd have preferred his health be good enough he'd never had one to start with.

Both girls looked up when Erik walked into the room, mask in place. He still wore it whenever he was going to be leaving the immediate area of the house and yard.

"Papa?" Arabelle asked, still needing the certainty that it _was _her papa behind the unsettling white porcelain, and not a monster of some sort.

Erik nodded, his heart aching at the uncertainty in Arabelle's eyes when moments before they were laughing and excited. But as soon as she saw him nod, the smile returned and filled her yellow eyes again.

Smiling himself, Erik sat at the end of the table, next to Arabelle's chair. He leaned over, and gently kissed her dark hair. Arabelle giggled, lowering her head down, then leaning out to wrap her arms around her papa's neck.

When breakfast was done, Christine said goodbye to Erik and Arabelle, and headed to work.

"Are you ready to go, dearest?" Erik asked shortly after, holding out his hand for Arabelle, smiling fondly.

Arabelle nodded excitedly.

'Yes Papa!" she squeaked, eyes shining as she placed her small hand in her father's.

Erik smilied again, and walked out the door with his baby.

-

-

Arabelle laughed as they wandered down the street. A couple people looked twice at Erik, but didn't think too long on it. One young boy made the mistake of going up to Arabelle about Erik while the two were at a market stand, getting a pie.

"Is that your father?" the boy asked.

Arabelle nodded with a proud smile.

"Why does he wear that mask?"

The smile dropped from her face and her eyes snapped open, forming narrow slits beneath lowered eyebrows.

"None of your business," she replied warily.

"I think he looks funny in it," the boy decided. "Why won't he take it off?"

Arabelle snarled.

"He _doesn't _look funny!" she snapped. "I love my papa! Don't you talk about him. He doesn't take his mask off out here because of people like _you, _who wouldn't leave him alone, you meanie. Now go away. Papa isn't bothering anyone."

The red-haired boy frowned, but left anyway. He could see there was no point trying to get past the girl. She was too angry.

Erik paid the man, and stood for a moment, just listening to the exchange between his daughter and the boy. God, but this was _wrong! _He didn't want Arabelle being ostracized because of him. She shouldn't have to defend him against a boy no more than six years old.

Self-disgust rose in him. He wanted her to make _friends, _not be pushed away from others because of _him. _

"Papa, are you ready?" Her voice floated up to him, excited and innocent. There was a slightly dark undercurrent, but for the most part, she sounded happy. Erik decided not to let on that he'd heard anything.

"Yes, my darling little love," he smiled, taking her hand again, and leading her down the road.

Arabelle looked everywhere as they walked. She hadn't forgotten the boy's words, but she wouldn't dwell on it. Already, the encounter was fading to the back of her mind, and she was thinking more about Christmas and all other sorts of happiness.

Erik felt a bit of a tug, stopping and turning to see Arabelle staring at a store window. In absolute amazement, she walked forward - Erik held her hand, and moved with her, seeing exactly what the child's eyes were focused on - staring at a set of porcelain dolls. A mother, a father, and two little children.

The dolls were rather life-like, and, Erik realized, likely very expensive. That gave him ideas. He'd have to come back tomorrow, and buy them in secret, provided they weren't outrageous.

Like fathers can, Erik managed to divert Arabelle's attention to a store filled with sweets and little treats. Arabelle deserved one, he thought, for being such a good little girl.

"Pick which one you like, dearest," he smiled, one hand gentle on her back.

Arabelle beamed thankfully up at her papa, and frowned contemplatively at the array of lolly pops. It was rare that she wanted candy, but this was special.

As they left the store, Erik scooped Arabelle up into his arms, and set her on his shoulder. Laughing, Arabelle wrapped one arm around his head, watching the people wandering past them on the streets, smiling down into her papa's upturned, shimmering eyes.

By early afternoon, they were both hungry, and Erik brought Arabelle to a small outdoor cafe. It was nothing like the grand ones in Paris, or in London that he'd seen, but it was inexpensive, perfect for the plan of buying most of their Christmas decorations today.

After, as they walked back toward the house, Arabelle holding Erik's hand, swining their arms back and forth, humming happily, Erik had to smile. In four years, he'd gained everything, at the cost of some furniture and a subteranean dwelling beneath an opera house.

He looked to the sunny little girl walking at his side.

_So gentle. Trusting. My God, how could someone so perfect come from something like me?_

And yet, she had, and he was so honored to be her father. Arabelle was just as much, if not more for the fact that she was _a part of him, _a light that he followed than Christine was. He knew, that, somehow, so long as he had Arabelle to care for, he could survive losing Christine. But not if his daughter were to go as well.

The winter sun made her dark hair shine like a black scrying mirror Erik had seen once in that gypsy medicine woman's tent. The comparison seemed to make the memories lighter, somehow. Perhaps because he could finally liken something wonderful to a moment in his past. Perhaps because now it was beauty that reminded him of little things he'd missed in his struggle for acceptance.

Arabelle looked up at him, smiling as she skipped.

"Papa?"

Erik looked at her.

"This was fun."

Arabelle's arms were suddenly wrapped around his waist, face buried in his stomach, smiling.

Erik smiled, shifting half the bags to his other arm, and lifting her up into his embrace. He kissed her cheek, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, Papa," she whispered softly, smiling slightly.

Erik blinked a few times (he realized, and acknowledged that such words would probably _always _bring such a reaction) to hold back tears. Five years of hearing those words, first from Christine, and then from Arabelle, too, and he _still _was often caught off-guard.

Pressing his masked face against her curls, he sighed in absolute happiness.

"I love you, as well, dearest. My red rose."

Arabelle tilted her head.

"Papa, you call me that a lot," she remarked. "Why?"

Erik smiled, and kissed her cheek again.

"Because you were not meant to be mine, according to the world, but still you are, Arabelle. You are my greatest miracle."

"How come, Papa?"

Erik sighed.

"They hate you," Arabelle whispered in bitter realization. "People were scared because you're different, so they hurt you, didn't they?"

Erik blinked, brought to a dead halt by a four-year-old girl's ability to understand.

"I don't hate you, Papa," Arabelle said gently, reaching a small hand up to remove his mask. "Can I tell you a secret, Papa?"

Erik looked at her, waiting to hear, silently encouraging her to speak.

"Sometimes, Papa," the little girl whispered, "I hear music. It's so pretty, Papa. Like in town today, and yesterday, at the pond. Do you hear music, Papa?"

Erik smiled. She was more like him than she realized.

"All the time," he replied softly.

"Papa, was that why they hated you? Or, was it your face? _I _like it, Papa. It's special. Like the music I hear now."

Erik blinked back tears. But he wasn't sad. He was touched. She was so kind, and gentle.

"What kind of music do you hear now, dearest?" he asked, voice slightly strained.

"It's pretty, Papa," Arabelle explained. "What I always hear when we play. And you know what? I _only _hear it when I'm with you! It's _our _music, Papa!" Giggling, she threw her arms around his neck, her head pressed against his chest, where the beating of her papa's heart provided the tempo of the lighthearted music winding through her head.

-

-

Christine awoke alone that night. A feeling of absolute dread came over her, and she turned on the gas-lamp by her side of the bed.

He wasn't in the room.

"Erik?" she called, hoping he was only in the bathroom, or perhaps the upstairs music room. That was usually where he went when he couldn't sleep - which, she was proud to say, was becoming less and less comon, to the point where it surprised, and slightly exhausted, him, even.

She walked silently through the room. He wasn't in the bathroom, nor in the music room. After she checked Arabelle's room with no sight of him, she began to panick.

She was about to go downstairs to search for him further when she heard it; a soft, almost mournful, but still hopeful, strain of violin music. She followed it down toward the living room, and stood in the doorway, listening as her husband's sweet voice joined the instrument.

_'No one would listen.  
No one but her,  
heard as the outcast hears._

_Shamed into solitude,  
shunned by the multitude,  
I learned to listen  
In my dark, my heart heard music._

_I long to teach the world,  
rise up and reach the world.  
No one would listen.  
I alone could hear the music._

_Then at last, a voice in the gloom,  
seemed to cry, 'I hear you.  
I hear your fears,  
your torment and your tears.'_

_She saw my loneliness,  
shared in my emptiness.  
No one would listen.  
No one but her,  
heard as the outcast hears._

_No one would listen._

_No one but her,_

_heard as the outcast,_

_hears..."_

And yet, the mournful note that sounded like it belonged at the end of that song was not there. No, the tones that slowly faded were happy; they were bright and innocent, made Christine think of a small child - _their _small child. Something had happened today, to inspire such a reaction.

"Erik," she called softly.

Erik turned, slightly startled.

"Christine," he smiled. "I didn't know you were up. Did I wake you?"

"In a way, I think," Christine replied. "I woke after you left. I suppose something didn't feel right, and that woke me up."

"I'm sorry, _mon precioux ange."_

Christine smiled, and sat next to Erik on the couch, reaching out and gently touching her curled up fingers against his cheekbone.

"Don't be," she encouraged. "That song was lovely, Erik.'

A wry smile crossed Erik's face.

"_Our daughter _is lovely, Christine," he corrected tenderly.

"What happened, my love?"

Erik sighed.

"For one, Arabelle is evidently more protective of me than I was of you in Paris, and she is far more astute than either of us realized. I merely explained, as vaguely as I could, why I called her 'my red rose', and she understood everything. She guessed at the past more than I thought she could."

Erik shook his head slowly in amazement.

"Did you know she can hear music? When none is playing? Like me? There is always music in my mind, and she told me it was in her's, as well." A half smile quirked his lips. "She's more than I could ever have hoped for, Christine. Dear God, it was enough of a mercy that I was given _you, _but her? I will never understand how I deserve her, Christine."

"But you do," Christine reminded him gently, her palm soft against his hollow cheek. "You, of all people, deserve someone like her. I told you she would love you, remember? Arabelle is what she is because of you, darling Erik."

"Christine," Erik sighed, raising his long, bony hand to cover her's. He leaned in and kissed her softly. "God, I love you. You, and Arabelle. Somehow, the two of you always know just what to say, don't you? My miracles. My roses."

Christine smiled, and took his hands, leading him back to bed, where she curled into his arms, her own around him, as well.

XxX  
Say it with me guys; 'Awwwww!' I love happy moments, though not everything in this story is going to be pure fluff. After the next chapter or so, expect the fluff to subside for a while.

Okay, all, review time! Please?


	5. Silent Night

Silent Night  
XxX

Erik woke to distant humming. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to see Christine bustling around the room, hanging sprigs of holly and ivy.

_Ah, Christmas._

Christmas was a time that, in the span of one year, had gone from his worst to his favorite time of the year. Like little Arabelle, he was always captivated by the delicate glass ornaments he always saw in shop windows, or on others' trees through the windows of their homes.

The joy and happiness of others, that had once filled him with bitter loneliness, now lifted his spirits, and made his heart sing. Because now he could share in that joy. How many times had he seen a parent out with their child, Christmas shopping, in Paris? Now _he _was one of those parents. Now _he _was the one who wandered down town streets, his precious little angel clinging to his hand, hanging on his every word, with a loving wife waiting patiently for them at home. How his life had turned around!

"Good morning," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, and gently kissing the back of her neck. He felt her shiver, and smiled.

Christine turned in his arms, and pressed herself close against him, resting her cheek against his chest, and smiling as she closed her eyes.

"Morning, Erik," she sighed, nuzzling the slight dip in the center of his chest. Beneath her ear, she could hear his heartbeat, and she leaned into him, closing her eyes happily as Erik ran his hands over her hair and down her back.

Christine's stomach gurgled slightly, and Erik let out a laugh, smirking down at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Hungry?"

Christine stuck her tongue out at him, but took his hand, and led him down the stairs to the kitchen.

They'd barely been down a minute, when Arabelle launched herself into the room, and straight into Erik's open arms. He swung her around, and held her close, kissing her cheek and laughing with her.

"Good morning, angel," he smiled.

"Will we put up the tree today, Papa?" she asked eagerly, round yellow eyes glowing.

Erik nodded.

"First, we must find a tree, though, dearest," he reminded her. "Get dressed, little one. We'll all go after breakfast."

With a squeak of excitement, Arabelle darted off back to her room. She returned a minute later, fully decked in a thick dress, winter boots, her hat, and her red mittens, bright-eyed and beaming.

-

-

"Erik, don't strain yourself, please," Christine warned.

They'd been out in the small wood behind the house for a good hour now, searching for the right tree. Currently, Erik was hacking at the trunk with the ax, and Christine was getting worried. He'd push himself too far, she feared; have an attack, and she couldn't let that happen.

She could hear his panting breath, and moved forward, gently touching his shoulder, and stopping his movements.

Erik turned a patiently questioning gaze to Christine, waiting for her to speak; he knew she had to, that look on her face said so.

"Rest a bit, love," she whispered. "I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself if you don't. You can't have an attack out here. It's too far from the house, and would you want Arabelle to see that?"

Erik shook his head, blinking and struggling to get a hold on his ragged breathing.

"S-sorry," he wheezed. "I didn't...... mean t-to..... worry you, Christine." A small smile crossed his face, and he set down the ax, taking her in his arms, and holding her close.

"Let's sit," Christine suggested, feeling the trembling of his tired muscles against her body. He was too close to the edge for her comfort.

Erik sank down, and Christine sat with him, her head against his chest. She could hear his heart racing beneath her ear, that dangerous skip more pronounced than it should have been.

"Are you feeling alright, Erik love?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and nuzzling closer. Not far away, Arabelle played in the snow, laughing in her own little world.

Erik smiled fondly, and kissed his wife's soft hair.

"Of course," he replied softly, running his hand over her back comfortingly. "As soon as I.... get my breath back... I'll go again."

Christine shook her head.

"No. I don't want you stressing yourself, Erik. If you could hear your heart, you wouldn't even _think _of working like that a second time. You've cut through half the tree in fifteen minutes. Erik, you're working yourself too hard. If it's to please Arabelle, just look at her. She _likes _being out here in the snow. She's happy outside in this. Please, my love, go slower. Remember your health."

Erik sighed. He knew she was right, but that wasn't the point. The point was he _should _be able to cut down a small pine tree without nearly having a heart attack. It made him feel weak that he couldn't.

He frowned when Christine reached for the ax and stood from his arms.

"Christine?"

She shook her head.

"You rest," she insisted. "Let _me _take a turn at this thing."

Erik got up, and tried to get the ax from her.

"You don't know how," he reasoned. "You might hurt yourself, Christine."

Christine smiled.

"No more than you would have, beloved, at your pace."

She leaned up and kissed him, then swung the ax at the tree, surprised a bit by its weight, and the difficulty of pulling it back out of the tree.

With a soft grunt, she managed to pull it back out, only to have Erik's hands on the handle again, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Please don't, Christine," he pleaded, moving one gloved hand to her cheek. "You'll pull a muscle. Let me."

"And you think it would be better for you to have an attack?" Christine countered, hands on her hips. "Better me with a hurt shoulder, than you bedridden over Christmas!"

Erik looked at her for a moment, then sighed, relenting. Christine was right, after all. Not only would she worry endlessly over him, but it would upset Arabelle as well.

He stepped back, and allowed Christine to work on the tree. Several times, she stopped for a moment, and each time, Erik stepped forward, concerned. But Christine continued to wave off his offers to take over, and about an hour later, the tree was down, and Erik was tying it onto Arabelle's toboggan sled to make it easier to transport.

Christine insisted on helping him, and when little Arabelle tried to grab onto the rope, too, he just smiled. How could he defy the two most important people in his life when they were united against him?

-

-

"Can you reach, darling?"

Christine smiled fondly at Arabelle as she passed the strand of garland around the back of the tree to Erik, who handed it back to her in the front.

Arabelle reached just a smidge higher, and hung the delicate red glass ball on the tree branch.

Erik had to smile himself at her adorable efforts.

At last, it was time for the star to go on top of the tree. Erik handed it to Arabelle and lifted her onto his shoulders so that she could reach. When her little arms came up just inches short, she leaned far out so that most of her weight was suspended in air. Erik cringed and shifted his grip from her legs to her waist, ducking forward to get back under her again.

Arabelle bit her tongue in concentration, stretching her arms as far as she could, and just managed to get the star on the tree. Laughing, she clapped, and looked down at her papa's upturned face.

Erik smiled broadly, and pulled her down into his arms, kissing her cheek.

"It's so pretty, Papa!" Arabelle laughed, looking at the tree. Erik shook his head.

"It isn't finished yet, dearest."

He walked over to the tree, and connected something to the power source he'd put in to their home not long after they'd come to Bristol. In the blink of an eye, the entire tree was sparkling and glittering with the tiny lights.

Each light was set behind a piece of colored glass, and threw refracted, rainbow light all over the tree, and around the livingroom.

Arabelle squeeked in amazement, eyes wide as saucers.

"So _this _is what you've been working on," Christine marveled in a quiet, mesmerized voice as she took a step closer to the tree. "And I thought it was wonderful when you put up electric lights for us. This certainly tops that, Erik my love."

Erik beamed at Christine's praise. His wife's words made him swell inside.

"Perfect," Arabelle whispered, looking at the tree. "It's absolutely perfect, Papa!"

Erik smiled, and kissed her cheek again.

"I knew you would love it, angel."

With the day almost gone, the little family sat down to eat dinner. As she always did, Ayesha came begging. Despite her age, she was still agile and quick enough to leap up into Erik's seat and take his meat while Erik was in the other room, and Christine put Arabelle's food on the table.

"Hey!" Erik yelled, returning just as his cat jumped from his chair. "Ayesha, that's not caviar! Give it back!"

He proceeded to chase the cat through the kitchen.

From their seats at the table, Arabelle and Christine laughed, enjoying the show of a fifty-five-year-old man chasing around a fourteen-year-old cat.

"It isn't funny!" Erik snapped, stopping long enough to glare at his wife and child. At the corner of his eyes, he saw Ayesha dart out of the room, and took off after her again.

"Ayesha!"

Several small crashes, three 'oofs', and four times when Christine had to reach across the table to cover Arabelle's ears later, Erik appeared in the doorway, looking disheveled, but triumphant, the steak in his hand.

"Ha!"

He shook the meat with a smirk, and returned to his seat.

"I don't suppose poor Ayesha will ever come looking for table scraps again," Christine laughed.

"Papa, you're funny!" Arabelle giggled, taking a bite of her food and swinging her legs back and forth above the ground.

"Oh?"

Arabelle nodded, and Erik just scoffed and kissed her head.

"So it would seem, dearest," he agreed. "So it would seem."

-

-

All the next day, Arabelle was flying around the house in a frenzy. It was Christmas eve, and she was more than excited for tomorrow.

Laughing, she convinced Erik to take her sledding. There was a great hill just beyond the trees around their home, and he took her there, hard put to keep up with her wild energy.

"Hurry, Papa!" Arabelle called from the top of the hill, holding the taboggan rope in her hand and waiting for her papa to join her.

Panting, Erik trudged up the hill toward her, smiling despite his exhaustion. This was the tenth time they'd gone down the hill, and it was very steep getting back up.

"Oh... dearest, I.... I'm going as fast.... as I can," he called back, forcing himself up to the top of the hill. Hands on his hips, he took several deep breaths before he felt he could safely go back down the hill and up it without having a heart attack.

Once he'd caught his breath, He sat down behind Arabelle. But rather than pull her feet up onto the sled, the child turned to look up at her father behind her.

"Papa?" she asked worriedly, eyes dark with concern. "Are you alright, Papa?"

Erik nodded.

"I'm just getting old, dearest," he explained. "Not many papa's are as old as me."

"How old are you, Papa?"

Erik smiled slightly.

"Fifty one years older than you, Arabelle," he replied.

"Oh," Arabelle muttered. "This can be our last time down if you want to go home, Papa."

"It doesn't have to be, dearest, I just can't go as fast as you sometimes," Erik told her, cupping her face in his hands, blinking against tears when his sweet Arabelle leaned slightly into the soft black leather.

"I'll go slower, Papa," Arabelle promised. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Oh, dearest," Erik whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "I won't. Don't you worry about that. Come, let's take this hill again!"

Arabelle looked up at him and grinned hugely.

"Yeah!" she cheered, turning around and tucking her feet up under the curled front of her sled as her papa pushed off, and they went flying down the hill.

-

-

Christine looked up when the sounds of laughter floated through the front door to where she sat in the livingroom. She walked out into the main hallway to see Erik and Arabelle there, Erik putting away the sled as Arabelle laughed and looked adoringly up at him.

"Mama!" she giggled, running to her mother's arms. "We had so much fun today, Mama!"

Christine smiled and kissed Arabelle's cheek.

"I'm sure you did, little one," she agreed. "How was it?" she asked Erik, noting the tiredness in his body, and the stiffness with which he moved. The cold must have gotten to him, poor dear.

"It was very nice," Erik replied kissing Christine's cheek.

"Come," his wife said gently, setting Arabelle down, and taking his hand, then hers. "Dinner is ready."

That night, they sat up late. Erik and Arabelle sat at the front window in the livingroom, singing Christmas carols, and later, gazing out the window. Arabelle was eager for any sight of Santa in the cold white, snow-covered world.

"I wish I could wait up for him to come, Papa," she sighed.

Erik smiled, and stroked her hair.

"If you aren't asleep, dearest, Santa won't come," he reminded her. "You know that."

"Yes, but I still wish I could see him, Papa."

Erik nodded.

"I used to wish the same thing when I was very young," he muttered, smiling again and kissing her cheek.

As Erik brought Arabelle to bed, she begged him for a story. He told her the story of the Nativity, how Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem on a donkey. Arabelle listened, rapt and intent on Erik's every word. He told how the young couple had been unable to find an inn to stay at, because there were over a hundred people in the town (_That's a lot of people, Papa), _and how they stayed in a manger. He retold how the wisemen came following the Star, along with the shepherds, and the little drummer boy (_Why wasn't it a drummer _girl, _Papa?), _and when he spoke of the angels, he sang their lullaby for Jesus to his little one.

_"Douce nuit, __sainte nuit.  
Tout est calme, tout est clair,  
Autour ces Vierge Mere et fils,  
Sainte enfant si tendre et doux.  
Dors en paix céleste.  
Dors en paix céleste."_

Arabelle listened sleepily to the soft song. The lilting, gentle French lulled her, and the familiarity of the accents of her father's voice brought her to the edge of sleep by the first verse.

_Douce nuit, sainte nuit.  
Séisme Bergers à la vue  
Le brillant du Ciel au loin.  
Celeste hotes chanter 'Alleluia!'  
Christ, le Sauveur est né.  
Christ, le Sauveur est né._

Douce nuit, sainte nuit.  
Fils de Dieu, la lumière pure de l'amour,  
Radeux poutres de ta sainte rive,  
A l'aube de la grâce rédemptrice.  
Jésus, Seigneur, à ta naissance.  
Jésus, Seigneur, à ta naissance."

Erik smiled at his little angel. She was sleeping soundly, curled around her bear, black hair scattered around her head on the soft pillow.

Outside the windows, snow began to fall softly, making only the slightest of whispering sounds as the little flakes drifted down through the air. The snow seemed to put out it's own light, making the dark night less black.

Erik smiled at the silent woods. Arabelle would be so happy if it was still snowing when she woke.

"Merry Christmas, dear-heart," Erik whispered, bending and kissing her forehead.

XxX  
Next chapter is Christmas. I love it; Christmas chapters around Halloween. A little bit funny, maybe? I'm not sure, but who laughed at the sceen with Erik chasing Ayesha for his steak? We'll just say it was a filet mignon (I love those...). That was based off an incident where George Washington's dog took off with the Thanks Giving turkey.

Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter, and please review!


	6. Joyeux Temps Noel

Hi everyone! For anyone who doesn't speak French, and might not have realized that it had a certain rhythm, the song Erik sings is French 'Silent Night'. Probably really obvious, no?

Anyway, back to the story!

Joyeux Temps Noel  
XxX

Erik and Christine woke to excited chatter, and gentle yet insistent shaking.

"Papa, Mama, hurry!" she squeaked in a whisper.

Erik had to smile, despite the fact that his body told him that it wasn't even light out. Even though she was obviously excited, she was still too good a girl to be at all rude in waking them.

"It's snowing, Papa!" Arabelle rambled on. "It's snowing and Santa came, and the tree looks even better in the daylight, and we have to open our presents!"

She'd mentioned presents, yes, but Erik knew what it meant that Arabelle had mentioned them last. His daughter was raised good and sensible. She was innocent, and didn't understand the ways of the world yet, but she always took what her parents said as fact, and left things at that. If they hadn't been able to get presents, she would have been content with the glittering decorations.

Oh, but she was going to love this Christmas. Erik knew it.

He and Christine let themselves be dragged out of bed, and downstairs to the living-room, where there were presents under and in the tree.

"Come on!" Arabelle laughed, running into the room and situating herself on the floor. She reached for a present in the back, and held it out for Erik. "Open it, Papa!"

Erik smiled, and took the package, and as he did that, Arabelle reached back in, and handed Christine one as well.

The drawing Arabelle had made Erik was simple, but it showed the promise of talent in the years to come. He smiled, and hugged her tightly.

"It's beautiful, dearest," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

In Christine's box, there was a pair of simple, yet lovely earrings.

"Arabelle said they were perfect, love," Erik murmured, his hands on her shoulders. "There is a matching necklace somewhere in the pile."

Christine turned and kissed him, then turned and hugged Arabelle.

"Thank you, Arabelle,," she smiled. "They're wonderful."

Erik suddenly knelt, and reached out for one of the gifts.

"I believe, dearest," he smirked, handing his daughter the box, "that this is for you."

Arabelle's eyes were wide in excitement, and she took the present from Erik's hand and opened it.

Seeing the dolls inside, Arabelle squeaked and threw her arms around her father's neck.

"Thank you, Papa!"

Erik smiled. If she liked the doll set, she'd absolutely love the big surprise he had for her.

A rectangle box caught Erik's attention, and he reached for it.

"Oh, Christine," he called, passing her the box. "This is for you, my dear. I do hope you like it."

Christine smiled warmly, and unwrapped the gift.

It was fabric, that much she could see, and when she held it up, her eyes went wide.

It was a gown, long and flowing, with a delicate neckline, and soft sleeves. The whole thing was green taffeta, or some similar, expensive fabric, and it about overwhelmed her.

"_Erik!" _she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. "I love it, Erik! Thank you! And this is yours."

The box was thin, and carefully wrapped. He slowly untied the string, and removed the lid. Inside was quality writting paper, with staffs drawn on. He recognized the sheets. They were sold at the music store in town, and cost quite a bit.

Erik smiled, and held her close.

"Thank you, my love," he whispered, a soft intensity in his voice. He looked into her eyes for a moment, then kissed her soundly.

Christine returned the smile on his face, and cupped his cheek.

"I thought you would like it, Erik love," she sighed, leaning into his arms.

-

-

Arabelle sat on the floor by the fire with her new dolls when Erik decided it was time.

"Dearest," he called to her, catching her attention. "I have one last gift for you."

Christine looked at him, confused. She didn't know about any extra gifts. She'd thought the dolls were Arabelle's big gift - granted, she'd been ecstatic about the new dresses she'd gotten, and the child's art set, but the dolls had brought the most excitement.

"What did you get her?" she whispered.

Erik shook his head.

"It's a surprise."

He left the room, and Christine and Arabelle shared confused looks.

Erik returned a moment later with a round box, and handed it to Arabelle.

"Open it quickly, angel," he instructed.

Arabelle nodded, and took off the lid.

Inside the box a small puppy blinked up at her. He had deep brown eyes, and his face as a mixture of dark greyish tan and black, his body just as dark. He gave a little yawn, blinking at Arabelle again.

Squeeling, Arabelle pulled the little black and dusty-tan puppy out of the box, and clutched him to her, snuggling the animal excitedly. She put him down only long enough to hug Erik, then went back to the dog.

"He's a German Shepherd, dearest," Erik explained. "A very rare type; black. And he's yours, Arabelle. Yours."

"Erik?"

Erik turned to Christine.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, love," Erik replied, following his wife into the hall. "What is it?"

"A dog, Erik?" Christine asked, one eyebrow raised.

"She likes him, Christine," Erik countered. "Please, let her keep him."

They both looked back into the living room, where Arabelle was playing with the puppy. She looked up at them, and held out the little dog.

"His name's Phantom," she stated, beaming, as she went back to her dog.

"Please let him stay?" Erik pleaded.

Christine smiled, and shook her head.

"Of course, Erik. I just can't believe you found a German Shepherd, here, of all places. It must have cost quite a bit for a black one."

Erik shrugged.

"A breeder lives in town, and no, not too much," he replied. "Nadir said he'd be over today," Erik mused.

"It'll be nice to see him again, won't it?" Christine smiled, taking his hand and pulling him back into the living room.

Erik sat in his chair and Christine settled on the arm, and the both of them watched Arabelle roll with the little puppy.

She was so happy, and Erik had to laugh lightly. The dolls were set aside carefully, but temporarily forgotten in the excitement over her own dog.

A knock on the door brought Christine to her feet.

"I'll get it, love," she smiled, kissing Erik's cheek and walking for the door. She returned with Nadir, who blinked in amazement at the pup in Arabelle's arms.

"Where did you find a _purebred German Shepherd?" _he asked, raising an eyebrow in Erik's direction. In the half a minute Christine had been gone getting Nadir, Erik had moved to the floor with Arabelle, playing with her and little Phantom.

"His name is Phantom," Arabelle introduced, pulling the puppy into her arms. "Say hello to Uncle Nadir, Phantom." She waved the dog's paw at Nadir, and Phantom barked cheerfully.

Erik saw Nadir blanch, and had to fight not to laugh out loud at his friend's shock.

"What, er, what made you think up _that _particular name, little one?" the Persian asked carefully, sending a wary glance in Erik's direction. He wasn't sure how the father would react to a direct reminder of his past, but Erik only smiled back, shrugging as if to say 'I didn't give her the idea, don't look at me.'

"Well," Arabelle explained, thinking on her answer. "He would be hard to see in the dark, but he doesn't look like a Shadow, or Midnight, or Blacky, so I thought of Phantom!" A bright smile split her round face, and she wrapped her arms around her new friend again.

When Ayesha wandered into the room, Phantom made a quiet noise, pawing in the feline's direction. Allerted to her presence, Nadir sidestepped to give the Siamese cat room. No matter how many years passed, the daroga knew he would never get to like cats.

Arabelle let Phantom down, and the puppy wandered hesitantly toward the other animal.

Ayesha watched the newcomer for a wary moment, then turned up her nose and walked away, swishing her tail in dismissal.

Phantom, taking the swinging appendige as a play toy, lunged after Ayesha, and clamped onto her tail. The poor cat lept into the air with a yowl, and ran, Phantom hot on her tail, barking excitedly, and trying his best to catch up and play with her.

As the older feline came darting by, Erik scooped her into his arms, laughing, and standing as Ayesha hissed down at Phantom, who was still jumping up, trying to reach her tail.

Erik stroked Ayesha's head as Arabelle pulled Phantom back into her arms. The puppy turned, wagging his tail happily, and licked his young mistress's face, yipping excitedly.

Nadir shook his head, smiling.

"This family," he sighed, trailing off. Erik and Christine both knew what he meant, and Arabelle was too wrapped up in her new pet to hear. "This is for you, little one," Nadir said, handing a box to Arabelle. Inside was a very pretty little necklace, a cameo, but rather than the typical mother next to the child, the larger figure was clearly a man; clearly meant to be Erik. Arabelle beamed brightly.

"Thank you, Uncle Nadir!" she squeaked, bright-eyed as Erik clasped the necklace around her neck.

Erik smiled. In the end, Christine recieved a lovely hair ribbon that matched the green gown. It was an unspoken thing between Erik and Nadir that they had been through enough; nothing needed to be exchanged between them.

-

-

Erik sat on the couch with Christine, Arabelle still on the floor by the fire, playing with her new dog. Smiling fondly over his cup of hot chocolate, Erik sighed, and sank back into the soft couch back.

_Ah, Christmas. What a day._

"Erik?"

Erik had his eyes closed, tired, but completely content, and when he answered Christine, he kept them shut.

"Yes, my love?"

"Why _did _you choose a German Shepherd?" Christine asked.

Erik smirked.

"Because there wasn't a poodle breeder in town, and I don't want our dear Arabelle growing up like _La _Carlotta," he whispered, making Christine laugh. She smiled, and kissed his cheek, loving the happy look on his face.

"This is why I never liked the mask," she sighed, stroking his face. "I could never see your emotions."

Erik pulled Christine down close against his chest.

"All in all," he told her, smiling softly, "I think this has been the best Christmas of the last four years."

"Arabelle certainly loves her presents," Christine laughed.

"And do you love yours, Christine?"

Christine smiled.

"I'll show you what I thought of them, love," she whispered, kissing him softly, and looking at him lovingly.

"I knew you would like them," Erik smiled, kissing her. "You really are wonderful, you know."

Christine sighed happily.

"Thank you again, for everything you've given me, Christine," Erik whispered, looking at her seriously. "These past four years have been heaven, and I cannot wait for all that will come as the years pass."

Christine smiled, and burrowed her head into Erik's chest, taking a deep breath. She remembered that he'd had a slightly musty smell when she'd first met him, but that had long since passed, and right now, he smelled like the pumpking pie she was baking for tomorrow, and the pine tree they'd decorated, and snow, and holly.

Erik smiled. He'd never get used to Christine loving him, of all people. And he was so thankful that he had her with him.

Christine let her eyes close, content and happy. Erik had the perfect chest, despite the fact that his continued thinness worried her. He ate, yes, but he was still almost painfully thin, and she didn't like it. But his chest was perfect for hugging; because he was so thin, there was a bit of a dip in the center, and it fit her head just right. And she loved the feel of his arms around her; long and thin, but strong, so strong.

Beneath her ear, she could hear his heartbeat, and it comforted her, the unchanging rhythm steady and slow, restful.

-

-

Erik watched at the doorway as Arabelle slept. She was curled beneath her blankets, with Phantom in her arms, also sleeping. The little dog was actually snoring softly, and his legs twitched as he chased after something in the world of his dreams.

It was a sweet sight. Erik was happy to know that Arabelle liked the dog. He'd known she would; after all, she was his daughter, and he had instilled in her a love of_ all _living things (spiders included; oddly enough, it was Arabelle herself who decided to like spiders, long before Erik had showed them to her).

Her arms were wrapped lovingly around Phantom, his head on her arm, both bodies hidden from view by the blankets that covered them.

Christine touched his shoulder, leaning into Erik's chest when he turned to face her.

"Merry Christmas, Erik," she whispered, smiling.

Erik stroked her hair, his own lips twisted upward.

"Merry Christmas, Christine," he returned just as softly. "God, I love you."

"And I love you, my sweet Erik. You always have been so wonderful, with me, _and _Arabelle."

Erik laughed quietly.

"That's because I love the both of you more than life itself," he breathed, holding her face in his hands, and kissing her lovingly. "You and Arabelle are my world."

"As she and you are mine," Christine replied against his lips.

Erik's arms tightened slightly around her, and she leaned more into him, her cheek over his heart, eyes closed and and mouth smiling. She loved Erik's holds. They made Christine feel safe, safer than she'd ever felt with Raoul.

When Raoul had held her on the rooftop, she'd felt some security, yes, but there had never been the certainty that she felt in Erik's arms. And Raoul had never stroked her hair the way Erik did; loving, but still tentative, even after years together. It was sweet, and endearing, and Christine couldn't imagine life without him.

Funny, how once, she would have been horrified to even try to imagine life _with _him.

But she loved him, she did. And she was so grateful his attacks hadn't killed him so far. It was like Christmas every morning for her, when she woke, and the first thing she saw was her husband's peaceful, sleeping face, a smile on his twisted - but so dear! - lips, the first thing she heard his even, deep breathing.

Erik could feel her happiness, and he held her close, smirking as he shifted his grip, and suddenly lifted her off the ground and into his arms, bridal style.

Christine gasped at the sudden loss of solid ground beneath her, her arms going tightly around his neck. But one the shock subsided, she worried at once. Christine knew she was heavier than she'd been when Erik had first carried her to the bed in his home beneath the opera, and he was older.

"Erik, put me down," she whispered. "You'll hurt yourself."

Erik shook his head.

"I'm alright, Christine," he assured her. "You worry too much." He kissed her nose, and carried her into their room, setting her gently on the bed.

"Was this a good Christmas, Christine?" Erik asked when they were lying together a few minutes later, both in their nightclothes, and curled in each other's arms. "Were you happy?"

Christine nodded, smiling.

"Yes," she whispered, rubbing his arm tenderly. "And I think Arabelle enjoyed it as well. Though, poor Ayesha will likely never go anywhere near Phantom."

Erik laughed.

"But still," he sighed. "I think this was a good Christmas. And I'm glad you are happy with everything."

"I'm wearing that dress tomorrow," Christine smiled, burowing into that slight groove in his chest.

Christine was asleep in moments, but Erik stayed awake for a while, just holding her, watching her sleep. In the moonlight, her skin glowed like pearls, or shafts of sunlight in the water.

Her hair was softly infused with the dim light so that it looked darker and lighter at the same time. She looked almost more beautiful now than when she was smiling at him.

Erik sighed, and closed his eyes.

_Yes, in all, this was perhaps the perfect Christmas. Thank you, God, for letting me have this life._

A smile was on his face when he slid into sleep.

XxX  
I love Christmas. My favorite part is the decorating. And the idea of little puppy Phantom makes you smile, doesn't it? I hope you all liked this chapter, and please review.


	7. Illness

Fluff drops off for a bit, in place of some heavy hurt/comfort. I love that, too, especially for characters who didn't get enough love in the actual story they're from. Am I right, guys? Don't we all love to see our favorite characters sick or hurt, just so we can read about them getting all the love and care they deserve?

Anyway, on with story!

Short Ends  
XxX

"Damb gold," Erik groaned, sniffling thickly and coughing. He sank shakily into his chair by the fire, shivering beneath the blankets. Christine gently pressed a cup of spiced tea into his hands.

"Erik, you've had that cold for a week now," she worried, gaging his fever, and frowning when she found that it was higher than it had been, "and it's only getting worse. Are you _sure _you do not want me to get a doctor?"

Erik shook his head, pulling her to sit on the arm of his chair. Christine wrapped her arms around him, and pressed his head to her chest, softly stroking his hair.

"Doh," he replied, shaking his head against her smooth skin. It was cool, and felt good against his warm face. "I'll be alrighdt, Christinde. I prombise."

Christine frowned, and took his face in her hands, tilting his head back until she had his eyes in her gaze.

"Erik, _you're not getting better. _I'm afraid this will turn to something serious, my love. If you get any worse, I _must _call a doctor for you."

Erik shook his head.

"Don't," he whispered, a tiny bit of fear creeping into his eyes. "Please, Christide." He broke off, sneezing explosively, then coughing deeply, the sound rattling out of his lungs with his wheezing breath.

When the fit passed, he pressed against his chest, frowning at the pain he felt.

Christine about panicked. He was already weak from the cold, he _couldn't _have an attack now; it might kill him if it was bad enough.

"Erik?!" she gasped, clutching at his arm, eyes wide.

"M... my lungs hurt...." he rasped, panting. He blinked against dizziness, and sagged against the back of his chair, wheezing tightly, eyes shut.

His face was slick with sweat, and Christine about broke into tears seeing him so weak. She gently stroked his hair, wishing she had been watching him closer when he'd started to feel a bit out of sorts at the beginning of the week.

"You must be seen, Erik," she whispered, taking a cloth from the night stand, and using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead, cheeks and lips. "You _need _a doctor."

Erik shook his head as vigorously as he could, grasping tremulously at Christine's wrist.

"N-no..," he replied, voice hard despite it's hoarseness. "I _dond't, _Christide. I wond't!.....I _cand't...."_

Christine smiled sadly, and took his face in her hands.

"My darling Erik," she sighed. "I understand you're worried. I know what you've been through. I promise, if you want, I'll stay right with you the entire time. Wear the mask if it helps you. But you _must _be seen by a doctor, Erik. What if this cold has already progressed to pneumonia? You can't die, my love. I _need _you, Arabelle needs you."

"I dnow," Erik replied. "Ad I'll be find. Beliebe me."

Christine looked at Erik's tired smile, and couldn't help a slight smile of her own. She kissed his cheek, and rested her head on top of his.

-

-

In the morning, Erik's lungs felt like they would rip apart with each breath, and he couldn't get enough oxygen into his system. The cough had gotten worse, and his fever had spiked in the night. And though the congestion had left his throat and head, it had filled into his lungs, making breathing almost unbearable. The doctor was there by noon.

"He's in our room," Christine muttered, leading the doctor - an older man named Mason - to the secondfloor bedroom.

Erik tensed when the strange man walked into the room, but relaxed when Christine entered, and came straight to his side, sitting in a chair and taking his hand gently in hers.

"It's alright, Erik," she said gently. "I am here."

Erik smiled faintly.

"I will see to him, Miss," Dr. Mason assured.

There was a pause, and Christine realized that Mason wanted her to leave.

"It's Madam," she corrected, "and I will stay. Erik will be more relaxed with me here. Won't you, love?"

Erik nodded, eyes and hands locked onto Christine's.

"Can the mask come off?" Dr. Mason asked. "It is obviously obstructing his breathing, and that is important in assessing his condition."

Erik shook his head almost frantically, looking to Christine.

"It's alright, Erik," she soothed, stroking his hair, and smiling reassuringly. "But the doctor is right, my love."

Erik gripped and regripped at Christine's sleeve, eyes wide and frightened behind the mask, nearly in tears.

"....please...." he rasped, already labored breathing becoming even more rapid and shallow.

"Erik, it will be alright, love," Christine assured him, still gently running her hand over his burning forehead. "I promise you."

Again, Erik shook his head desperately.

"N-no... Christine....... please.... I can't.."

Christine hated herself for making him take off the mask when the idea clearly frightened him. She felt wretched for putting him in such a situation, but he couldn't breathe right.

"Erik, trust me," Christine whispered. "I won't let any harm come to you. I swear it Erik. Everything will be alright. Now please, my dearest love, let me take off the mask."

Trembling like a leaf, Erik clenched his eyes shut, and nodded weakly. He trusted Christine, trusted her with his life.

Christine bent and kissed the small, uncovered part of his left cheek, reaching at the same time for the ties of his mask.

She heard the doctor gasp quietly behind her, and stiffened. She knew Erik would have heard it; he had excelent hearing.

"You were called to diagnose his illness," she hissed after a silent moment. "Not oggle at a mere physical deformity."

She didn't see Mason nod, but she felt his shame heavy in the room.

Dr. Mason listened to Erik's chest, had him sit up and take a deep breath. Inevitably, the deep breath led to a roung of wracking, deep coughs that sent intense pain lancing across his chest.

Christine held him, and rubbed his back in firm little circles, intent on helping him regain control of his body.

Once the fit passed, Erik slumped weakly in Christine's arms, shaking and muttering about the cold.

Concerned, Christine lay him back against the pillows, and pulled the blankets back up over his shoulders, tucking them around his chin to keep him warm. She crossed to the fire, promising when she stood from Erik's side, that she wouldn't leave the room, and returned with a warming pan of coals, sliding it beneath the blankets to help Erik get warm again.

After a quick check of his eyes, throat and ears, Dr. mason called her away to a corner of the room. Erik had been anxious about her leaving his side, but again, she promised not to leave his sights.

"From what I've seen, and the symptoms you described, Madam Destler," Dr. Mason said, removing his glasses, and looking for a moment back at Erik. Without Christine at his side, he seemed to be less sure of himself, and the white porcelain mask was back on his face, untied, but doing it's job still. "He does have pneumonia. And with his heart condition, which you mentioned when you called me, his chances are small."

"I don't care about the chances," Christine snapped, her horror at the thought of having to live without her Erik getting the better of her. "So long as there is a medicine you can give him that will help this, he'll survive. I know my husband's strengths."

Dr. Mason smiled slightly.

"Fortunately, it has not progressed to the point where he is beyond help."

He reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of capsuls.

"Echinacea pills," Mason explained. "They will help him, I assure you."

Christine took the bottle, and smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll start him on them right away."

"Have him take three in a day," Dr. Mason instructed. "One in the morning, another halfway through the day, and another at night. With caring like yours, he'll be back on his feet soon."

Christine nodded, and watched him leave. She'd have seen him to the front door, but Erik looked wounded when she stepped toward the hall, so she stayed, walking back to their bed, and sitting in the chair, taking her husband's hand again, and gently removing his mask as she ran a tender hand over his face.

Christine wet a cloth from the pitcher of water on the night stand, and folded it onto Erik's forehead, looking at him in sadness. His face was pale, save for a streak of harsh fever-pink across the middle of his face. He looked so weak and frail, almost old, lying in the bed, with the blankets tucked tight around him. Christine could only hope that the doctor was right, and that she hadn't overestimated her dear Erik when she'd said that he'd live, so long as there was medicine, because she knew that medicine could only do so much, and in the end, whether he recovered or not was up to Erik and his body.

Erik looked at her with heavy, feverish eyes,, but beneath the sickness-caused bright, there was a clear lucidity; the fever may have control over his body, but it didn't yet affect his mind.

"Christine...." he wheezed. "I am... sorry."

"Shhhh, Erik," Christine soothed, stroking back his damp hair. "There is nothing to be sorry for. Such things as this happen." Of course he'd heard them, with his hearing. "Can you sit up?" she asked. "I'll help you, Erik love. You need to take this."

Erik looked at the little bottle of capsules, insides twisting in self disgust. He was weak. Too weak to be here with Christine. For the first time in two years, he realized with certainty that he was not worthy of his dear wife. Perhaps God was stepping in at last, stopping this blasphemy of Erik having a family before it went too far?

_No, _a voice in his mind sighed. _You know that isn't true. You deserve her. You fought so hard, of _course _you deserve her. She loves you, and you love her. You've changed your ways, you love your daughter, you've become a good man, that makes you deserve her. Now start getting better, you old fool!_

"That's it, Erik," Christine encouraged, helping him slowly into a sitting position, and pressing the pill into his mouth. "Don't worry, my dearest love. I'm here. I've got you."

"... momma... papa?"

Arabelle's little face peeked in through the door, eyes wide, ready for tears at a moment's notice.

Christine's heart ached for their little girl. She'd never heard Arabelle so frightened. The little girl had been horrified by Erik's attack two years ago, but then, she'd been still too young to understand, and Erik had been back on his feet in a matter of days. This time, he would be in bed at least a week, _if _he -

_STOP IT! Of course he'll survive! You're being ridiculous, and you know Arabelle has his ability to pick up on emotions. She'll see your despair, Christine, and sink into her own, and then Erik will never recover. Don't give up on him. He never gave up on you._

"Arabelle.."

Erik reached out his free hand to her, and his young daughter ran to his side, tears rolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest.

"Papa, I don't want you to be sick!" she wailed, clinging to him. "You _can't _have pumona."

"Pneumonia," Christine corrected gently, choking back a sob. "Don't worry, darling. Papa will be alright, won't you?"

Erik nodded tiredly.

"Of course I will," he agreed softly. But his voice was different; hoarse and weak, and it did little to comfort Arabelle.

-

-

Arabelle wasn't in her room when Christne woke and decided to check on her. Panicked, she ran down to the living room.

The girl was curled with her doll set in Erik's chair, sleeping. Her black curls were mussed and scattered, some falling in her face, and there were pink tearstains down her cheeks. In fact, on closer look, Arabelle was still cring, even in her sleep. She clutched at the dolls, while Phantom licked at her foot, looking up at her in concern, wondering what was so wrong with her mistress.

Christine sighed as she walked forward, and lifted Arabelle into her arms. She broght the dolls, letting Arabelle cling to them for comfort. This February had been hard on them all, thus far, and Christine wished with all her heart that recent events had never come to pass. If Erik weren't ill, Arabelle wouldn't be crying in her sleep, curled in her father's chair. If Erik weren't ill, Christine wouldn't be so worried. They would all be happier.

She was worried. Arabelle's tears had obviously exhausted her, and she'd come here for the comforting scents of her father, and Erik was ill. Arabelle could easily go the same way if Christine didn't watch her closely now.

Gently, Christine tucked Arabelle back into her bed, helping little Phantom up onto the matress where he immediately curled up next to Arabelle, nuzzling her cheek, and settling in to sleep.

But Arabelle woke, and looked up at Christine.

"Mama," she whispered, "is Papa going to die?"

Christine sat at Arabelle's side, lifting the girl up and hugging her tightly.

"No, dearest," she replied. "I've seen him pull through worse, you know."

Arabelle looked up at her in amazement.

"Really?"

Christine nodded.

"Yes, baby. Do you remember that time when Papa's heart was hurting him? Two years ago, when that boy tried to take your bear?"

Arabelle nodded. The memory wasn't very clear, but it was there.

"Well, those little moments used to be more common, and much worse," Christine went on. "Once, when I first met your papa, I took off his mask without his permission. Oh, he was so angry and hurt. And he had one of those attacks. He couldn't breathe well, and for two weeks he had to stay in bed, he was so weak. And I thought, for some time after, that he would die. You see, Papa's heart isn't very strong, Arabelle. If it weren't for that medicine he takes, I don't think we would have Papa today, sweetheart. But we do. And we must never take a moment with him for granted.

"But at the same time, he is very strong. Papa never complained through any of those attacks, and he always recovered. I assure you, dear one, he'll be alright. You'll see. Sleep now, angel." She bent, and kissed Arabelle's forehead, and Arabelle nodded, rolling over to her side, and curling around Phantom with a sniff.

"Papa'll be alright," she whispered to herself as she drifted off.

Christine sighed, watching as a calmer sleep took her daughter. At least she was no longer crying.

She walked back to her and Erik's room, and sat beside him, unable to sleep. She could hear his labored breathing in the dark, and finally, let go and sobbed.

How could this be happening? True, she'd never had any fantasy that Erik might outlive her; she knew he wouldn't with his heart - let alone that he was a good thirty years older than her - but she didn't want to lose him quite so soon. He was so dear to her; her _world. _

Once, she'd thought she could handle living without him. As he'd lain, slowly fading away that night beneath the opera house, she'd thought she'd find a way to go on, and forget her feelings for him. She knew now, as she had for the past four years, that she would never be able to move on. If Erik died, she would follow him. Perhaps not physically for some years, but her heart would be with him in Heaven. Erik may have believed he was going to Hell, but Christine knew better. He was a good husband, a wonderful father. Whatever he had been in the past was because others had forced him into that roll. He hadn't decided to take it on.

For a long time, she sat on the edge of their bed, crying silently. She cried for Erik, for Arabelle, for herself. Just two months ago, they'd celebrated Christmas, happy and all well. Just two months ago - and less - she'd seen Erik smile, running his hand over her gift of pricy music sheets.

But she knew she couldn't dwell forever. If she let go, and became sick herself, there would be no one to care for Arabelle.

Standing, she walked into the bathroom next to their room, and splashed water onto her face, looking for a long moment at her reflection in the mirror. She looked hassled, and frightened, and she was. She was so scared for Erik's health. What would become of him if he did recover? Would he regain all the strength he'd lost, or would he forever remain just that much weaker?

Shanking her head, she dried her face on a towel and walked back to the bedroom. She took off her dressing gown, and slid into bed next to Erik.

In his sleep, Erik curled into the comforting presence at his side, murmuring faintly 'Christine', as she wrapped her arms around him, and held him close.

She sighed. Somewhere, deep inside her, she knew all this worry would be for nothing; Erik would make it as he always had. He would come out of this as strong, if not stronger, than before. Maybe not physically, but as a person.

Christine almost laughed, wondering how someone so wonderful as Erik could possibly be any better. He was everything she ever dreamed of and never deserved until the last four years.

_No more tears, _she promised herself. _No more gazing across waisted years. He'll live. He _always _lives. Erik could fall off the top of the Paris Opera House and still live._

She smiled softly, and kissed Erik's bare forehead.

"Sleep peacefully, my sweet Erik, my love," Christine whispered. "I know you're strong enough to recover. I have every faith in you, beloved. And I promise, I'll take care of you. I love you so, Erik."

Sun-colored eyes were suddenly staring at her, weak, but lucid. Erik smiled faintly.

"I love you too, Christine," he murmured, slowly raising a trembling hand to stroke her cheek. "My Christine..."

"Shh, Erik," Christine cooed. "Go back to sleep, love. You need your rest."

"So do you."

Christine nodded.

"I suppose I do," she agreed. "But I am much more concerned for you."

"Will you sing?"

Christine smiled slightly, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Of course, my love.

_Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee,  
All through the night;  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night;  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,  
I my loving vigil keeping,  
All through the night._

While the moon her watch is keeping,  
All through the night;  
While the weary world is sleeping,  
All through the night;  
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,  
Visions of delight revealing,  
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,  
All through the night."

There was a small smile on Erik's sleeping face. And though his breathing was still difficult, Christine imagined that it was a bit less shallow, and a bit more clear sounding.

"He'll be alright," she whispered to herself before sleep covered her.

XxX  
Yeah, Erik's sick through next chapter at least. Though don't worry, guys, he doesn't die. Yet. That comes way later. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter, and please review!


	8. By Your Side

Last chapter; technically 'Short end of the stick'. Kinda fits poor Erik's luck, neh? Next chapter!

By Your Side  
XxX

For the first several days, Erik got steadily worse.

Christine sat constantly at his side, patiently helping him with the medicine, and changing the compress whenever it grew dry. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps she'd been wrong when she'd decided he'd live. Perhaps the feeling inside had been wrong.

Currently, she sat by the window in their bedroom, reading a book on herbal cures. Erik slept fitfully behind her, going from shivering one moment, to trying to shove away the blankets the next. Christine made sure he remained covered, because she knew the wracking chills would come again, and she didn't want him to get worse. His condition was bad enough.

Arabelle too, rarely left her father's side, though Christine insisted she spend at least some time each day downstairs, and ate her meals in the dining room. She couldn't afford to fall ill, as well, and Christine knew it would crush Erik if she did.

_Mustard plaster, that may be what he needs, _Christine thought, closing the book and standing. She moved to the bed, and gently stroked back Erik's sweat-soaked hair.

"I'll be back, beloved," she whispered, her heart clenching when he didn't even respond to her touch.

"Arabelle," she called as she passed the living room, her cloak on her shoulders, hand on the door knob, "watch your father for me, please, dear. If he wakes, tell him I've gone out to the market, and I'll be back soon."

Arabelle nodded silently, and took her dolls, making for the stairs, Phantom following right behind her.

-

-

Christine wandered the town streets. She worried constantly. If Erik were upset that she left, it would do him no good. But hopefully, Arabelle's presence would be enough to keep him calm.

She went to several stores, until she found one that sold the plaster already made (the book hadn't explained how it was prepared, and she didn't want to risk it not working).

"That'll be fifty cents, ma'am," the man behind the counter smirked. He was dirty, and the way he looked at her made Christine nervous, so she paid him quickly, and left.

She would have gone home, but she felt something was missing. Christine knew she ought to hurry, but she wanted to get Erik something, and a little present for Arabelle for watching him while she was gone.

Perhaps a simple food; a little treat for her two favorite people in the world.

Erik would probably never admit to it - at least, not while Arabelle was young - but he loved black berries. Especially with sugar. Odd, she knew, for someone who rarely at anything, but that was her Erik. And Arabelle, well, anything pumpkin, and she was content till it was gone (when she'd finish, she'd pout for a moment, staring at her empty hands, then shrug and go back to what she'd been doing before. Christine agreed with Erik; it was rather adorable).

There was a bakery across the street, and she stopped in quickly for the items.

-

-

Arabelle lay curled up at Erik's side. He had an arm around her, and was quietly telling the story of 'Beauty and the Beast'. Arabelle adored that particular tale, with how Beauty chose Beast, even over the hansom village boys.

"It's because Beast was nicer, right, Papa?"

Erik smiled slightly.

"I'd like to think so, yes."

He turned his head and coughed into his elbow, gasping.

"Papa?!"

After a moment the fit passed, and he lay back, turning heavy, tired eyes toward his daughter.

"I.... I'll be... alright d-dearest..." he wheezed, trying to smile, despite the pain in his chest and throat. "Don't you.... w-worry, lovely one.."

Arabelle reached for the cloth she'd seen Christine use, and wiped off the sweat from Erik's face, then curled back up with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the rattling mucus in his lungs.

"Papa," she whispered, looking up at her father. "Are you tired?"

Erik sighed.

"A bit," he whispered, looking away. He wasn't about to tell her the full extent of how awful he felt; that would frighten her so, and he couldn't do that.

"Do you want me to sing, then, Papa?" Arabelle offered. "So you can sleep?"

Erik had to smile at that.

_My darling girl. My sweet, wonderful little angel._

"Please, dearest. Thank you. You have your mother's voice."

Arabelle shook her head.

"She says it's like yours," she replied. "Ethreal?"

"Ethereal," Erik offered faintly, smiling again.

Arabelle nodded, and started to sing.

_"Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high,  
there's a land that I've heard of, once, in a lullaby.  
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue,  
and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true._

_Someday, I'll wish upon a star,  
__and wake up where the clouds are far behind me._

_Where troubles melt like lemon-drops,  
away above the chimney tops is where you'll find me._

_Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly.  
If they fly over the rainbow, why, then, oh why, can't I?_

_If happy little bluebirds fly,  
beyond the rainbow,  
__then why, oh why, can't I?"_

Erik wasn't asleep. But her song was pretty and he appreciated the effort. Her innocent, childish voice was clear and showed promise; it was lower than Christine's, and though it had her bell-like quality, Arabelle's little voice was much closer to Erik's in pitch.

He heard the door open, and the happiness that Christine was home made his eyes pop open.

Arabelle smiled, and scrambled down off the bed.

"I'll be back, Papa," she promised, darting out of the room.

Once she was gone, Erik let go. He struggled to keep from coughing as he breathed. He'd held back, breathing more shallowly for over an hour so that Arabelle wouldn't quite hear how bad his breathing really was.

A slightly deeper breath, meant to form a sigh, triggered a fit of deep, barking coughs from the bottom of his chest. His lungs ached, and he felt the squeezing effect they had on his heart keenly as he pressed his hand hard against his chest in pain.

Christine appeared in the doorway, a worried look on her face at once. Erik realized she must have heard him, despite his attempts to keep quiet.

She crossed to his side, and sat him up, pounding his back when he almost-choked on what was coming up from his lungs. She held a handkerchief in front of his mouth as he finally brough up some of the muck.

Christine cringed when she saw the blood mixed with the green-ish mucus, her insides clenching worriedly.

Arabelle was at the door now, and Christine quickly hid the handkerchief. She'd get rid of it later.

Erik's heart pounded unevenly, almost painfully, and he gasped, another round of wracking coughs sending knives deep into his lungs.

"Arabelle, go downstairs, please," Christine instructed, breathless and urgent. She couldn't let their daughter see her father in such a state; bringing up blood and unable to stop coughing.

Erik could taste blood in his mouth again, and when he finally managed to reign in the coughs, he used what strength he had left to motion weakly to the handkerchief on the night stand. Christine held it to his mouth again, and he spat out the blood-tinged mucus (or rather, mucus-tinged blood, with how much scarlet fluid there was being slowly absorbed by the cloth.

"Oh, Erik," Christine breathed, tears welling in her eyes as she held him close.

Through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the heat of his fever and that worried her greatly; it shouldn't be up so high. Carefully, she lay him back down and reached for the cloth.

As she turned back to face him, Erik let out a strangled, quiet cry, his eyes fluttering as they rolled back. His body went rigid for a moment, then shook violently, his head thrashing side to side, body seizing and shuddering.

Christine gasped, and gently took his shoulders. She'd heard somewhere that it was important to get someone in a seizure onto their side, so that they wouldn't choke on anything vomited up.

Erik gasped, his already difficult breathing almost impossible. She knew that lying on the side eased breathing, and doubted he'd be able to at all on his back.

He was making small choking sounds in the back of his throat between gasps, and she could only pray Arabelle wouldn't come in now.

Christine cringed when he vomited over the edge of the bed, luckily into the bucket that had been there since the other night, when his stomach had started to bother him.

She didn't know what to do, though. Erik's body was beyond his control, and from what she'd felt through her dress, his fever had spiked much too high for his safety.

All she could do was try to cool him down. She kept wetting the compress with cold water and washing his face with it. She took his hand in hers, and gently rubbed it over his burning skin.

_Erik, please be alright._

She couldn't find her voice, seeing him so. Christine was terrified, and she had no idea what to do next to help him.

After an eternity-long two minutes, Erik stilled, gasping weakly. His body heaved, and Christine thought he was going to start seizing again, but he broke into a fit of harsh coughs.

Christine held the handkerchief under his mouth again, and the mucus and blood dripped out. The cloth was beyond repair now, and she dropped it into the bucket beside the bed to be disposed of later.

Gently, she rolled him to his back, and situated him amongst the pillows, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his flushed face.

"Oh, Erik," she finally managed, sobbing. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

He was clearly still struggling to breathe, barely holding onto consciousness.

"C........ chris....... Christine......" he rasped, wheezing so badly.

Christine took his hand, gently smoothing his hair.

"I'm here, Erik," she whispered, smiling through the tears. "I'm right here."

"My...... my Christine....." Erik murmured, glazed eyes slowly closing. "Stay...."

"Of course," Christine assured, her face wet with tears as she reached for another cold compress. She had to bring his fever down.

Using the thermometer from the bathroom, Christine cheeked his temperature. 105.3 degrees.

_Oh, please, no..._

She couldn't think straight, her mind racing over the horror of what had just happened.

"Erik," she sobbed, laying her head on his chest, and crying. How could things have gone so wrong?

It was a good hour before he woke, listless and confused. But at least his eyes were not quite so feverish, and when she checked, Christine found his temperature was lower. Not by much, but enough to where he was no longer at risk of another seizure.

"Christine?" he croaked, blinking slowly. Christine brushed her hand over his face, resting her palm against his cheek.

"Shhh," she whispered, her thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. "Don't talk, my love. Rest."

Erik knew she was holding something back. Something had happened that she wasn't telling him. He could see it in the still-wet tear tracks on her cheeks. And when he asked her about it again, she broke, sobbing and telling him how frightened she'd been.

Fever-seizures. He'd heard that they were a childhood problem, that did not affect adults. Apparently he'd heard wrong.

"Are you hungry, Erik?" Christine asked, wiping once more at her tears, and changing the subject. "I have one of your favorite treats in the kitchen ice box."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"What might that be?"

Christine smiled slightly.

"A black berry tart, love," she told him, her face softening when he perked up.

"Christine," he smiled, eyes bright with something other than the fever. "Thank you."

He squeezed her hand for a moment, then she kissed him, and left the room, returning in a minute with the tart.

Christine helped him sit, and eat the desert. Erik leaned gratefully into her gentle arms, and when he'd finished, he kissed her cheek softly.

"I love you.." he whispered. 'I love you so much..."

Christine smiled, but she felt the tears welling again, and she nodded.

"I love you, too, Erik," she replied just as softly. "And when you are well again, I'll buy a whole crate of these for you."

Erik laughed weakly, still exhausted from the seizure.

Looking out the window, Christine saw that night had fallen. How much time had passed, really, since she'd come home?

"Erik, your medicine," she said gently, reaching for the bottle of echinacea pills.

Erik groaned.

"They upset my stomach," he mumbled, turning his head away.

"Better an upset stomach than dying of pneumonia," Christine replied seriously, handing him the capsule and a glass of water.

"I'm sorry, love," she whispered, kissing his temple apologetically.

Erik squeezed her hand, and swallowed the pill as Christine tipped the glass of water to his lips.

Christine's heart ached to see him so weak, but at least he was still alive. At least he was still with her. And she would care for him, whether he was meant to survive or not, no matter what the personal cost. Because she loved him. Erik was her world, and she was not about to let him die.

No, she would make sure Erik lived. She needed him to live, and so, she would see him through this, and out the other end to recovery.

XxX  
Guys, I promise this is the worst it gets for Erik. Please don't hate me!

*hides behind tree*

And I looked it up, for anyone who might ask, and yes, a really high fever can cause seizures for adults, too. It's not that common, but I figure, since Erik already has heart trouble, _and _he's in his mid-fifties, it might be a likelyhood.

Anyway, please review, guys!


	9. And Spring Will Come Again

And Spring Will Come Again  
XxX

Erik took a good four weeks to recover. Even then, he was weak, and often coughed, tiring quickly, and sleeping more than he ever had.

Christine did not let him out of bed the first two weeks, out of worry that he might relapse, and they _would _lose him after all. And they'd come so far, the three of them.

Arabelle, for her part, was simply glad that her papa was not going to die. She spent all her time with him now, following him to her parent's rooms when he became too tired, staying close because she never wanted to leave him again.

It was slow going, and several times, Erik almost _did _sink back into illness, but Christine managed to keep him safe.

Now, Erik sat in his chair, in a nightshirt and robe, a quilt over his legs, the fire roaring warm in the fireplace. Arabelle sat at his side on the floor, playing with Phantom, glad that her father was getting better.

Christine came into the room, and handed him a cup of hot spiced tea, to help clear up what remained of the congestion in his lungs. There was so little of it left now, and Christine was relieved.

"Thank you Christine," Erik smiled. His voice was still a bit hoarse, but it was returning to the old beauty again.

Christine smiled, and sat on the couch end closest to him.

"Anything for you, Erik," she whispered, taking his hand and smiling. "I am just glad you're alright, love."

"So am I," Erik laughed. "Believe me, Christine, so am I."

An unseen little draft of wind down the chimney made him shiver a little, and shrink deeper into his robe for warmth.

Christine noticed at once and stood, grabbing the extra quilt she'd brought down for just such a case, and draping it around his shoulders.

"Stay warm, Erik love," she murmured worriedly, kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulder before returning to her seat nearby.

On the floor, Phantom growled, shaking his end of the chew rope as he tried to back up. Arabelle hung on tightly, laughing.

"Enjoying yourself, dearest?" Erik laughed, smiling fondly.

Arabelle tilted her head backward to see her father, and nodded as best she could from that position.

"Yes, Papa!" she giggled.

Erik smiled softly, then turned suddenly, and coughed, caught off guard by the strength of the spasm. The end was so forceful, that his body rocked forward, his feet leaving the ground for a moment.

"Erik?" Christine asked worriedly, reaching out and touching his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Erik reached for a handkerchief on the table, and pressed the mucus out of his mouth. There had been no blood since the end of the week his fever broke, and the mucus had gone from the sickly green to a slightly more normal-color yellow.

He folded the handkerchief, and set it back in it's place.

"Papa, are you alright?" Arabelle asked worriedly, tilting her head backward to see him again.

Erik nodded.

"Yes, dearest," he assured her. "I'm fine."

He was only a little winded from the coughing fit - oddly, the roughest since his fever had gone down - but it was still enough to worry Christine.

"Erik?"

Erik shook his head.

"I'm alright," he repeated, smiling at her.

Christine returned the smile, relief obvious in her eyes. It had taken a whole month for him to get to this point; a very dark, terrifying, uncertain month, but at last it was over. Erik would be alright after all.

She had to smile. Though it was March, and obvious that the severity of Erik's illness had much to do with his heart, Christine couldn't see reason to worry any more. He'd come out alive, as she'd prayed for, and that was what mattered. Whatever next was to come, they'd get to it when they got to it.

Arabelle laughed lightly when Phantom abandoned the chew toy and came and curled up on her lap. The five-month-old puppy was very much attached to the girl, and the girl to the puppy. As Phantom grew, the black coloration remained, and darkened, promising a beautiful dog when he was full-grown.

But for now, Phantom was simply a devoted, energetic puppy.

Erik sighed happily. How he'd missed this; sitting in the living room, and watching Arabelle play, or Christine sew. She'd become quite good at cross-stitch over the years.

He was happy. He'd missed going sledding with Arabelle. And he'd hated worrying his girls so badly. He knew they'd both cried multiple times over his condition the past month, and he hated himself for it.

-

-

"It's good to see you on your feet again," Nadir smiled, nodding to Erik.

Erik laughed.

"Yes, well. Nothing could keep me from these two for very long, you know that," he replied, wrapping an arm around each of his girls. Christine kissed his cheek, and Arabelle snuggled into his side with a happy smile.

"So I have seen, my friend," the Persian agreed. "So I have seen."

Christine smiled. She truly enjoyed seeing Erik so happy. Yes, she knew he loved her and Arabelle, but it was equally clear that he needed his friend every now and then.

His cough was all but gone, and the only other remnants of his illness was a bit of persistent thinness that Christine worried would stay with him, rather than fade. But he had come an incredibly long way since his fever had broken. That first day, he'd been little more than skin and bones - thinner than she remembered him being during their time at the opera - from the stomach upset brought on the illness and aggravated by the echinacea, and weaker than a newborn kitten.

He'd been a bit dehydrated, too, from all the sweating and vomiting, but that had been cured, and as he'd recovered his health, he'd gained back a healthier color to his skin, and some weight. He still had a little ways to go before Christine felt he was not too thin for his own good, but he was certainly going to be alright.

Christine was infinitely grateful that Arabelle hadn't seen the worst of Erik's condition. Once, Erik had been reduced to tears, begging his 'mother' to stop hurting him as he'd clutched at Christine's sleeve. Another time, he'd pleaded with the Khanum to let Christine go, to stop torturing her so.

But those were all in the past, and Erik was safe. For now, there was nothing more for Christine to worry about, and she was glad.

Arabelle took the opportunity to abandon the floor, and got up in Erik's lap, snuggling into his chest, and smiling as he wrapped his arms aroun her.

Smiling, Erik kissed the top of her head, and Arabelle made a small, happy noise as she nuzzled closer.

"What is it, dear-heart?" Erik whispered, rubbing her back tenderly. "Tired?"

Arabelle nodded, mumbling affirmatively.

Christine smiled.

"I'll take her up," she said softly, but Erik shook his head, holding her close.

"I will," he countered gently. "I haven't put her to bed in over a month, have I dearest?"

Arabelle shook her head, looking sad for a moment before resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.

Christine watched Erik leave the room with Arabelle, a small smile on her face.

"He really is attached to her, isn't he?" Nadir mused, smiling himself.

Christine nodded.

"Yes," she sighed. "They spend as much time together as they can. He's such a good father, Nadir. Before any of this, I never would have thought he'd be good with children, but..."

Nadir chuckled.

"I know what you mean," he smiled. "I was very much concerned that he would not at all take to Reza, with his personality, but he became like a second father."

Christine looked over at nadir, smiling slightly at the thought of her Erik doing his best to make a sickly little boy's last days peaceful. So he'd really been the man she knew as her husband, and Arabelle's father, all along, somewhere deep inside.

"It's getting late," Nadir sighed, smiling faintly. "And I'm sure you still want to see that Erik doesn't overwork himself."

Christine stood.

"It was wonderful seeing you again, Nadir," she told him, walking with him to the door.

Nadir was just stepping over the threshold when Erik came back down the stairs.

"You're leaving?"

Nadir nodded.

"It _is _getting late, Erik," the Persian reminded him.

Erik shrugged.

"True enough," he agreed. "Come back soon, Nadir."

"I will."

-

-

In April, it was as if the months of February and March had never been. The snows melted, and the buds of trees began to form. In the last couple of weeks, Erik was out in the yard, readying the ground for the garden. He had a special plan for the rosebush this year. He always tended the rosebush. So he was the male in the family; the rose meant something to him. It symbolized his two loves. For the past four and a half years he'd grown a single rosebush on the edge of Christine's little garden, in a circle of small stones.

Arabelle, too, loved the garden, and was always staring at the flowers.

She took an intense interest in music that April, as well.

Erik remembered coming into the music room one day to see Arabelle staring longingly at the violin on the wall. When he asked her about it, she expressed a strong desire to learn to play the elegant instrument.

She had one of her own to learn on two weeks later.

Erik taught her himself, trusting her musical education to no one else. It was clear, even though she was not five years old, yet, that she was gifted. She was a brilliant child, and so eager to learn whatever her parents had to teach her.

In the same respect, she began to develop an even stronger affinity for animals. The first time she'd come home, crying over an orphaned mouse, Christine had shrieked, while Erik swelled with pride. His sweet little girl, young though she was, showed all signs of growing into a fearless lioness; kind and brave.

The mouse became her pet at once.

"I'll call her Mysty," Arabelle had told him as she'd placed the little creature in the cage Erik had bought. Really, the baby mouse was adorable, and Arabelle was too caught up in her new friend to care that her mother was terrified of it.

Arabelle carried the mouse around with her everywhere. She looked to her papa to show her how to care for it.

"Like this, dearest, see?" he murmured, as he demonstrated the use of a small eyedropper to feed the little being milk. The tiny mouse lapped at the end of the dropper, eagerly drinking down the offered milk.

Arabelle had taken over care of the little mouse until it was more than old enough to fend for itself. At Erik's suggestion, she let it go beyond the rock wall that separated their yard from the woods.

"Will she really be happier out here, Papa?" Arabelle asked as she held the little mouse in her hands. She felt like she was going to cry. The mouse had become almost as dear as Phantom was to her.

Erik knelt, and gently set his hand against her cheek.

"Dearest, Mysty was born a wild animal," he explained softly, smiling slightly. "She belongs to the wild, Arabelle. I am so proud of you for taking care of her, but she must go home. She's not so little any more. She can find her own food, defend herself. You have to let her go, angel."

Arabelle nodded sadly, and set the mouse in the grass.

"There," she whispered. "You're free, Mysty." She gave a gentle push to the mouse's behind, and it scattered off into the undergrowth.

Arabelle sighed, and stared at the spot of ground where she'd last seen her Mysty for a long time. Erik was both proud, and sad. If she'd done this once, she'd do it again, and he knew it. He could almost see her bringing in other strays of the woods; caring for them, nursing them, then reluctantly returning them, only to find more in need of care. And she would do it, too, no matter how Christine might protest. But Erik wouldn't protest. No, Erik liked that she was caring toward even the smallest creatures on earth. He was proud of her for it. Endlessly so.

-

-

She would start school in the fall. _That _was what Erik dreaded. Arabelle had never left his or Christine's side before. How would she handle it? Often, during her lessons on the violin with him, as she played he would wonder about her and her future. She was a very unique child, that was for certain. And he wanted nothing more than to be in charge of her entire education, but that was not possible. He didn't know everything she might need to know someday; he knew almost everything about surviving, but very little about being a normal person - after all, that's hardly what a lifetime of loneliness and running from hatred teaches someone.

Christine, for her own part, taught Arabelle as much as she could, when the child wasn't off with her father. They had become absolutely inseparable over the four years they'd all ben a family. And that connection had only been strengthened by Erik's illness.

Somedays, she wished she could forget that such a dark time had ever come to them, but the memories were forever burned into her mind. There were times when she could not close her eyes because all she could see at that moment was Erik, seizing on their bed, and all she could feel was the numb horror that he might not be alright after all.

She was still watchful, even as spring blossomed around them, and flowers began to bloom. She could see that Erik wasn't quite as strong as he'd been, and it worried her, even now when all shreds of a shadow of his near-death had left him, and he was as happy, healthy, and content with his life as he had been before.

And yet, when he was there beside her at night, holding her close in their bed, she could not feel anything but peaceful bliss. _This _was what she'd always wanted. Her Ange of Music to take her breath away. And oh, had he!

When her birthday came in early May, she was not expecting much. Oh, Erik had always gotten her something wonderful, but he did not feel comfortable with birthdays, and understandably so, after his only one had ended in such fiasco. But it said a lot that he tried.

But this year was special, somehow. Perhaps because they both realized it was a moment they might not have gotten to celebrate together, had the events of February progressed differently.

Erik woke her with breakfast, and sat beside her all day, just loving her. He did all manner of romantic, sensual things for her that day, while Arabelle and Phantom spent the day with Uncle Nadir at the local park. And his gift appeared around her neck as he'd kissed her there; a pendant necklace with a porcelain cameo of the three of them; Erik, Christine, and Arabelle, together, and happy.

The detail on the faces to show for certain who it was had taken a skill that was slightly beyond him, these days. Oh, his hands were still steady, but the level of minuteness needed a master's hands, and the new tools Erik didn't dare touch for fear of electrocuting someone ten miles off. It had cost him quite a bit, that necklace, but Christine deserved it, and more. So much more.

And yet, she was ecstatic at the sight of the cameo of their family.

"Erik it's wonderful," she'd breathed, her eyes shining wetly. And oh, the sweet kiss he got for it! The price had been well worth it.

"I love you, Christine," Erik whispered gently, as he fondly pet her hair. "So much, and always. Happy birthday, my sweet beloved."

That night, as she lay in Erik's arms, Christine reflected on everything that had happened thus far on the year. Her mind likened Erik suddenly to the spring that was flowering around them; like the world, he had gone through a time of darkness and pain, and came out beautiful. She could only pray it would never happen again.

And yet, she knew somewhere inside, it would. Hopefully, not to such an extent, but surely it would happen again. Erik's health was far from the best on good days. But so long as she kept him warm, and safe, and as well as possible, perhaps she could prevent something quite so extensive from ever happening again.

Christne gazed at his pale, sleeping face, almost glowing in the soft moonlight. The little veins were clearly visible, pulsing lightly with his slow, resting pulse, and his sunken eyes were closed gently.

Erik actually had rather delicate eyelashes, if looked at closely. Not as feminine as a woman's surely, but long, and it was easy to see where Arabelle's lashes came from. The hole where his nose should have been seemed smaller in sleep, and his thin lips were twisted slightly into a smile.

He looked peaceful, really; like a small child, comforted by the love of someone dear to him. Christine had no doubt that, were she to leave, and let him be alone, that the smile would fade and his sleep become less easy. She'd found that he could not sleep alone well at all - part of why he'd slept so little in the past.

But like his returning health, it seemed his illness had made him tired enough that it was starting to not matter anymore, whether or not she was there. Or perhaps he was finally coming to accept that his current life was not just some fever-dream after all; that he was truly awake and alive, and Christine was not going anywhere.

It warmed Christine's heart to think that maybe she was helping him heal from his past. She was not naive enough to think he could ever forget it completely, but maybe being with her and Arabelle could help smooth over the rough edges, and give him a bit of hope for finding a place in the world.

XxX  
Heh, see guys? No need to punjab me, Erik's fine. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this, and please review.


	10. The Lake

So, the place Erik and family go to is real. It's actually an amusement park that's been around since like, 1840s, I think. Lake Compounce is my favorite amusement park. It's right in my home town, too.

On another note; here is a testament to the extent of my insanity; Last night, one of my mom's friend's church showed the 1925 Phantom of the Opera. I went as the Phantom. Seriously. I had on black shoes, pants, vest, cape, hat, a white shirt, black tie - I even managed a deformity under the mask (you know those little scraps of fake skin they sell in Halloween stores? Well, there was one that was a face. It's amazing what some fishing line and a little spirit glue can do to help you look as creepy as possible...) Anyway, yep, I think it's safe to say, I'm _beyond _obsessed at this point. But, oh, well. It happened with Lord of the Rings, too, so I guess it's to be expected.

Back to the story, now!

The Lake  
XxX

Erik held up his arms.

"Jump in, dearest," he laughed smiling up at her. "I'll catch you."

Arabelle smiled nervously. She knew how to swim, but the water was over her head, about up to her papa's chest. Closing her eyes, she reached out trustingly, and jumped.

Erik's arms closed around Arabelle's body as she hit the water with a splash, laughing and smiling.

"Very good, dearest," he smiled. "Now it is Mama's turn."

Christine was standing on the dock, looking incredibly nervous. It was quite obvious she didn't want to get in, but she wouldn't leave her family, and she trusted Erik.

"Jump, my love," Erik called. "The water isn't very deep. See? I'm standing on the bottom."

They'd come to the park an hour ago. It had been Christine's idea to go to the Lake Compounce park for the day. It seemed like the perfect place to relax and have a quiet day together. Even Nadir was there, watching from somewhere along the beach. Erik had tried several times - unsuccessfully, unfortunately - to get his friend into the water.

"No thank you," the daroga had said. "I have no desire to get soaking wet on my one day off this month."

Erik had left it alone after a few more tries, and focused on his family.

Christine took a deep breath, and sat, then slid into the water, yelping.

"It's _cold!" _she gasped.

Erik moved through the water, and wrapped an arm around her.

"It's not so bad," he whispered.

Before Christine knew what was happening, a smirk flashed on Erik's face, playful and mischievous, and then she was underwater, pushing back up, her hair soaking in her face, gasping.

Slowly, she parted the strands, and glowered.

With a laughing cry, Erik pushed away.

"Go to shallower water," he told Arabelle. The girl could swim, but he didn't want to take any chances.

As Arabelle made for the shallows where she could stand, Erik dove under the water, and swam away from Christine, who chased after him.

When Erik came up for air, Christine shouted, and pounced, but Erik ducked down and swam off, his mind screaming laughter.

_Just a little more. A bit closer to shore, so she can stand if she panics._

He came up one last time, then dove back down, staying down long enough that Christine began to turn where she stood, uncertain of where he would come from.

Something stirred just behind her, then two arms were around her waist, pulling backwards, and she shrieked before she realized who it was.

When she turned in his arms and saw Erik, she growled, and splashed at him, laughing, then threw herself on him, knocking them both under the surface of the lake.

They came up laughing, and Erik kissed her deeply, holding her close against his chest. His breathing was slightly heavy, and he was content just to hold her. He looked to the shore, and just above the waves, Arabelle had convinced Nadir to help her build what was starting to look like a sand castle. He saw her laugh and smile up at Nadir, but he couldn't be jealous; for one, it was his fault she wasn't laughing with _him, _and two, it wasn't the same adoring, loving smile Arabelle gave him. Only Erik ever saw that special smile of hers, and it made his ego just a little bigger.

"Let's sit for a while," Christine suggested.

Erik smirked. "Tired already, love?"

Christine shook her head.

"Cold."

Erik laughed, and scooped her into his arms, walking toward the beach.

-

-

"You can't catch me!" Arabelle laughed, running barefoot around the grass.

Erik shook his head, and chased after her, smiling.

When he caught up with her, he grabbed her waist, swung backwards, and flopped down in the grass, Arabelle in his arms. They were both panting and laughing, and Arabelle snuggled against Erik's chest.

"You caught me, Papa," she smiled, closing her eyes.

"Yes," Erik sighed. "As I've promised, dearest, I'll always catch you."

Arabelle kissed the bit of his cheek not covered by the mask, and buried her head in the little space beneath his chin. She was happy, curled in her papa's arms.

"Dearest," he whispered, rubbing her back. "Look up. See the cloud?"

Erik pointed to a cloud that looked like a short-eared rabbit.

"It's a bunny!" Arabelle laughed, her gaze following Erik's finger.

"Yes," Erik smiled, rubbing her arm. "It is, dearest."

"Arabelle, Erik, come eat, now," Christine smirked as she stood above them. Arabelle laughed and jumped up, hugging her mother.

The lunch was simple, and Arabelle was chattering almost constantly about the swimming, and her sand castle.

"...and then Uncle Nadir lifted me up, and I jumped onto it, and it went _PWOOSH!" _

She swung her hands wide to imitate sand blowing up.

Erik laughed. He'd seen it happen while he and Christine were still in the water. To be honest, he'd been a bit concerned that she'd hurt herself, but, as he'd seen a while ago, his little angel was perfectly alright.

"I imagine that was fun," Christine smiled.

Arabelle nodded.

"It was, Mama."

Erik smiled, and mussed Arabelle's curls.

"You _are _an adventurous little one, aren't you?" he laughed, pulling her into a hug.

Arabelle smiled, and leaned into Erik's side, returning the embrace.

Erik sighed, and tightened his hold slightly. He loved this. It had been five years, but he would never _get used _to the wonderful sensation of a child trusting and loving him so completely - _his _child, no less! It was one of the many things he'd longed for for half his life. He finally had it, and he would never tire of this.

"Papa?" Arabelle asked from her place in his side. "After we eat, can we go in the woods?"

Erik smiled. He knew this would come. She'd been eyeing the woods since they'd arrived.

"Of course, Arabelle, my lovely," he nodded. "But you must stay close to me, understand? Can't have you getting lost,_ange."_

Arabelle nodded.

"Yes, Papa."

The moment she was done eating, Arabelle was on her feet, running around the table to amuse herself while she waited for Erik to finish. Once he had, he stood, took her hand, and they wandered off into the trees.

"They really are that close," Nadir marveled.

"They have been since Arabelle was born," Christine sighed, smiling.

"Amazing, isn't it?," the Persian mused. "He always used to think there was no way anyone would ever actually love him - pity him, maybe, but love him? No, he never dreamed this would be his fate. You know, after you left, he told me he'd known it would end that way - with him alone - the moment the viscount came on the scene."

Christine looked after Erik and Arabelle. They were almost gone. She felt awful. She hadn't known Erik had been _expecting _her to refuse him right from the start. Could that have been why he told her to go with Raoul? Why she'd almost never gotten to know this wonderful life she had now? Had she really given him such cause to think that she would never love him?

But he knew different, now, didn't he? Ridiculous. Of course he did. She'd done her best to show her love for him over the last six years. She wished she could have realized, and admitted her love for him sooner, but she'd barely been more than a child, then. Being away from him those long-ago three weeks had helped her to realize she'd loved Erik, all along.

"It was Erik," she whispered. "Always Erik I wanted. I just didn't know how to say it. Now I do."

-

-

Erik laughed as Arabelle danced between the trees. She looked so happy among the trees. She belonged in the woods, like a fairy child; his own little changeling.

_A redeemed monster, and a light-hearted pixie, _he mused, smiling. _Quite the pair we are._

Arabelle bounced all around the path, darting from side to side, running about like an excited little puppy.

"Hurry, Papa!" she laughed, jumping ahead and twirling.

"Dearest, slow down, you'll wear us both out," Erik chuckled, pushing up the hill they were on.

Just seeing Arabelle's energy was almost enough to tire him. But it was something he would not miss the little moments with her for anything.

Arabelle stopped, then, standing in place, once more in her dark green dress, head tilted to the side, a bit of worry in her eyes.

"Papa?" she muttered, walking back to his side and looking up at him. "Are you going to have one of those attacks again?"

Erik cringed. She was not even five years old. She'd barely been two the last time he'd had one - that she would have seen; while he'd been ill the past winter, he'd suffered one, but it was small, and had gone almost unnoticed in the dead of night while Christine slept beside him; he'd taken two of the hawthorn tablets, and that was the end of it - how could Arabelle remember?

"No, dear-heart," he assured her softly, gently cupping her face. "I'm alright, Arabelle."

"Okay, Papa," Arabelle responded, blind faith making her agree. She trusted her Papa's word more than anything.

Erik sighed, looking down into her upturned, faithfully smiling face. He couldn't help but love her. She was so trusting, so willing to accept what her parents - particularly Erik - said as fact, without any proof that they were right.

She continued back up the hill, but not as fast as before, Erik noticed. She was so sweet...

"Papa, look!" Arabelle breathed, stopping in her tracks and pointing. Erik paused and looked in the direction his daughter indicated, and saw, about ten feet into the woods, a great stag, with a doe and a fawn around him, bending to eat the grass.

The buck stood guard while its mate and young ate peacefully.

"Papa, that's like us," Arabelle whispered, looking up at her father, and taking his hand. "Can we get closer?"

"No," Erik replied quietly. "We'll frighten them away, dearest. If we stay where we are, they will stay. We don't want to frighten them, Arabelle, do we?"

Arabelle shook her head, then turned her attention to the deers.

The little fawn had wandered closer to them, and slowly, her heart in her throat, the little girl reached out a hand, and the baby deer stretched it's neck to sniff at her hand. It gave a tiny cry, and jumped playfully back to it's parents, who bounded off, the fawn close behind them.

"Wow, Papa," Arabelle breathed, her eyes wide as saucers.

Erik smiled, and rubbed her arm.

"Yes," he agreed. "That was wonderful. Let's get back, sweet one. I'm sure Mama and Uncle Nadir miss us."

Arabelle nodded, and smiled back, taking her father's hand, and letting him lead her down the hill, and out of the woods to where Christine and Nadir sat.

"Mama, Mama, we saw deer!" she laughed, running forward and hugging Christine's waist.

"Did you?" Christine smiled.

Arabelle nodded.

"I'm glad you had fun, Arabelle," Christine said. "It's time to go, now. Perhaps we'll come back?"

The last sentence had been directed at Erik, and he could see the hint of concern in her eyes. She was worried about him.

Erik smiled.

"Yes," he agreed. "We will have to come back, soon."

The ride back was pleasantly quiet. Arabelle leaned against Erik's side, his arm wrapped around her small shoulders.

The carriage rolled over the cobbled streets, Bristol, Connecticut, their home, passing by around them.

Arabelle snuggled closer to her father, smiling and closing her eyes. She was asleep in a moment.

Erik bent and kissed the top of her head, smiling himself.

"You're so close," Christine sighed.

Erik smirked quietly.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, eyes glinting mischievously

Christine huffed quietly, pretending to glare.

"No," pouted, not looking at him to avoid bursting into laughter. The look on his face was absolutely hilarious. He'd taken off the mask, and was giving her a look so entirely pretend. There was a laughing gleam in his eyes, and before she could do anything about it, he had pulled her into his arms, kissing her lips, her jaw, throat.

Christine gasped, and responded in kind, though both kept as quiet as possible. After all, their daughter was sleeping, right on the other side of the carriage. It would be incredibly awkward and hard to explain, should she wake up to them, in their current position.

When the carriage returned home, Erik leaned across, and scooped Arabelle into his arms, smiling as she shifted closer to him in her light sleep.

She woke when they reached the front door, and Erik gently kissed her forehead before setting her down.

Christine smiled at them both, and turned toward the kitchen.

"I'll make us dinner."

-

-

As they lay together late that night, Erik sighed contentedly. Christine looked up at him, and smiled lovingly.

"Did you enjoy today, Erik?" she whispered in the dark.

Erik beamed softly at her, yellow eyes glowing in the dim moonlight.

"Yes," he replied. "Though I'm sure Arabelle enjoyed it worlds more."

Christine nodded tiredly against his chest, snuggling and nuzzling into the dip in the center.

"I love you, Erik," she sighed, her voice muffled against his soft skin.

"And I you, Christine, _mon ange," _he replied just as quietly, fondly stroking her hair.

"Today was wonderful," Christine murmured, yawning.

Erik laughed quietly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes it was, my love. I am glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," she breathed, burying her face even further into his thin, precious chest.

Erik watched her for a while, as she blinked slowly, her eyes half closed. He realized again just how much he loved her; how incredible she was. Oh, he loved her so much. She was his world, and he still counted himself unproportionatly lucky in finding her. He'd always thought he would lead a solitary life until the day he died. Now, however, he knew he was loved. His sweet Christine was curled into his chest, barely awake, smiling softly still.

He bent, and gently pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering one last time for the night that he loved her.

Christine was nearly asleep. Erik's gentle 'sleep, beloved,' was all that was needed to push her over the edge into the realm of dreams, her precious husband following only moments later.

XxX  
Wow, this took forever. Well, I hope you all liked this, and it shouldn't be too long of a wait for the next one; it's almost done. Review, please!

XxX  
Wow this took a long time. I actually had a good deal more of this written up, saved it, but for some reason when I tried to finish off, and save, it logged me out and took away just about all I'd written since the last save. Which bugs me to no end, but, there again, the more I think about it, that part didn't fit. I like this end better.

Anyhow, I hope you all liked it. Review, please!


	11. Friends

New character in this chapter! Introducing Jillianna Morgan, the cute little girl with a lisp and heart trouble.

Disclaimer; I've checked into it, and, as long as the condition was minor, there was medicine available (which there was - not to modern extent of course - in the later 1800s), and the kid was well taken care of, they could survive an arrhythmia, even ones that produce some symptoms. Sure, there would be problems, but they could make it. And any reference to medicine - all herbal-based, as I don't know what kind of other stuff would be available back then - has been looked at, but please, do not take my word for it, because I have no way of knowing for certain if the information I recieved was right. I do not have any real background in medical knowledge, besides poking my nose into some herb books. And as to why I'm putting this in there is; you don't know who could have such a problem. Someone you've recently met might, you never know. And I know it was less likely than now for people to survive well into adulthood with stuff like this, but Erik did - according to Kay - and heart problems were only the sixth leading cause of infant mortality. I know that's higher than it would be today, but it's still survivable. I hope this puts off any confusion and misunderstandings about elements of the story.

And now, on with the story!

Friends

XxX

Arabelle walked beside her father, arms swinging at her side as she hummed softly to herself.

Erik smiled as he watched his little girl. In the sunlight, her raven-wing hair glimmered like onyx. Her round, almost-five-year-old face was glowing with excitement as he took her to her first day of school.

At last, the low rock wall around the schoolyard came into view. Arabelle froze in an instant, yellow eyes wide and glinting in worry.

"It will be alright, dearest," Erik assured her, kneeling so that he was on her level, and looking into her eyes. "I'll see you at the end of the day, angel." He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her cheek. "Have a wonderful day, my little love."

Arabelle nodded, kissing Erik's masked cheek.

"I will, Papa," she replied.

"And mind your teacher," Erik warned, eyes serious.

Arabelle smiled, nodded again, and turned off into the school yard.

The school room was lit with candles, and gas lamps, with several wide open windows. The walls where whitewashed clapboard, and the desks each fit two students.

The only other person was the teacher, sitting at her desk, writing something.

She looked up when Arabelle stepped closer. Her hair was blond, and pulled back into a tight bun. She wore glasses and the somber grey of a very stern woman. But her smile was kind, and Arabelle at once felt better when she saw it.

"You must be Arabelle Destler, is that correct?" the teacher asked.

"Yes, Madam," Arabelle replied in a clear voice, doing her best to sound grown up. She curtsied steadily, and offered a shy smile.

"I am Mrs. Ingrahm. Your father has told me much about you, Miss Destler," the teacher said. "He tells me you are quite intelligent for your age."

Arabelle nodded.

"That is what Papa and Mama say," she agreed.

"You certainly do speak better than other children your own age," the teacher nodded. "I shall put you in the first grade class, and we will see how you do. Take your seat, dear. Class will be starting soon."

In another minute, students started rushing into the room to the tolling of a bell. Mrs. Ingrahm studied them all impassively, with a stern face as she stood before the blackboard behind her desk.

A moment after the children had all filed in, and were seated, another girl walked hurriedly into the room.

The girl had lank, straight white-blond hair, and watery grey eyes behind glasses. Her skin was pale, almost sickly looking, with shadows under her eyes, and she looked fragile and small. She clutched her books tightly to her chest, and looked desperately around for a seat.

"You may sit with me, if you want to," Arabelle offered softly.

The older girl smiled softly, almost shyly, and slid carefully into the seat next to Arabelle, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Arabelle noticed the light sheen of sweat on the girl's face, and lightly touched her hand. The girl jumped, her other hand going to her chest as she closed her eyes and calmed down.

"I apologize for startling you," Arabelle said gently. "But are you okay? You look like you've just run a mile."

"I'm fine. It'th nothing," the girl replied in a quiet voice. She clapped her hands over her mouth as though she'd said something horrible.

"What's the matter?" Arabelle asked.

"Aren't you going to laugh?"

Arabelle shook her head.

"Why should I?"

"Becauthe I have a lithp," Jillianna whispered.

"Laughing at someone is mean," Arabelle stated. "What's your name?"

"My name ith Jillianna Morgan. What'th your'th?"

"Arabelle," Arabelle replied. "Arabelle Destler."

Jillianna looked at Arabelle.

"You look a bit young for firtht grade."

Arabelle shrugged.

"The teacher said she thought I was ready," she replied.

"You mutht be thmart," Jillianna muttered.

"Papa and Mama say so," Arabelle agreed.

Jillianna had no chance to reply, as the teacher began to speak.

"Class, this year, we will be welcoming a new student. Arabelle, please come up here and let everyone see you."

Arabelle did as she was told, and walked between the desks to the front of the class. She curtseyed, and stood as Mrs. Ingrahm instructed the students to make her feel welcome, that the other first graders were not to look down on her because she was younger, and that the younger students were not to snub her simply because she was in a higher grade.

After all the necessary ceremony, Arabelle returned to her seat, and took out the math book her father had bought her the other day in preparation for her first day of school.

For the rest of the day, Arabelle took notes, and worked on her class work. The math sheet the second-graders had been given required partner work, and she teamed up with Jillianna.

"How old are you?" Jillianna whispered over the papers.

"Five years this November," Arabelle replied. "How old are you?"

"Theven thith patht May."

Arabelle said nothing in response, and went back to their work.

"Carry the two," Jillianna reminded her.

Arabelle nodded, noticing the mistake at once. It was because she was distracted, wondering why Jillianna was in first grade when she was old enough to be in second.

When it came time for recess, Arabelle ate quickly so that she could go outside and play. She ran straight for the trees. To her, it did not matter that she was in a dress.

"Come on!" one of the fifth grade boys called to her. "Even you can make it up here!"

His skin was dark and smooth, eyes a warm, friendly deep brown, and he waved at her, smiling kindly.

Arabelle was about to attempt to scramble up into the tree to the boy when she noticed that only Jillianna was not running about, playing. She was sitting silently on the steps of the schoolhouse, watching the other children wistfully.

Head tilted to one side, Arabelle went back to where the girl sat, confused as to why she would just sit on her own.

Jillianna looked up as Arabelle came toward her, grey eyes meeting yellow as Arabelle sat down beside her.

"Why aren't you playing?" Arabelle asked, frowning slightly.

"I can't," Jillianna replied, looking away.

"But why? Surely you want to?"

Jillianna nodded.

"I do," she sighed. "But Mother thayth I muthtn't. Becauthe my heart ith bad, the thayth."

"That sounds just like Papa," Arabelle mused. "Papa has a weak heart, too. Mama has medicine for him. You have medicine, don't you?"

Jillianna nodded.

"Are we friendth?" she asked.

Arabelle nodded.

"If you want to be, too," she replied, smiling. "I have some dolls in my bag, if you want to play?"

"Okay," Jillianna beamed.

Arabelle nodded, and went back inside to get her dolls so she and her new friend Jillianna could play.

Coming out the door, she could see a couple of boys – not the kind fifth graders that had taken her under their wings; these boys were younger, perhaps in the third or fourth grade, and they had Jillianna in tears, Arabelle could see that from where she stood – standing around Jillianna, and Arabelle's blood boiled when she heard them making fun of her lisp, and the fact that she wouldn't play.

"Leave her alone," Arabelle growled, stepping between the boys and her new friend.

The leader of the boys sized up the slightly smaller girl. Though Arabelle was tall, she looked young, and innocent, and the boy smirked.

"Who's going to make me?" he taunted.

"I will," she hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" another boy asked, pointing.

"Nothing," Arabelle replied proudly. "They're like my Papa's."

"_Freak_ eyes," the third boy scoffed.

"Thtop it!" Jillianna snapped. "Don't be mean to her!"

"What would _you _do about it?" the leader returned.

"I'll get Mrth. Ingrahm!" Jillianna warned.

"Oh, I'm _so _frightened!" he said sarcastically. "She doesn't scare me!"

"Hello, Mrs. Ingrahm! How has your day been?"

The boys balked at Arabelle's words, and swung around, only to see no one there.

"Think you can make fools of us?!" the leader demanded. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson!"

"No, you won't."

It was the African fifth grader, who had been so kind to Arabelle moments ago.

"Leave them be, Addison," he said in a low voice.

"This isn't over!" the first boy snarled, pointing at Arabelle. "Don't think you'll get away next time, _freak!"_

They walked away, then, leaving Arabelle and Jillianna alone.

Arabelle glared after them.

"If they think _I _am a freak, they don't know what my papa is when he's defending me."

"You'll be alright now?" the fifth grader asked.

"Yes, and thank you," Arabelle replied. "What's your name, though? I never caught it."

"Cody," the boy replied. "Cody Emmerson. And your name is...?"

"Arabelle Destler."

Cody smiled.

"I'm going back to my friends, now Arabelle. Take care around Addison."

Arabelle nodded, and turned back to Jillianna, who was sniffling, and rubbing her left arm.

"Jill?" Arabelle asked, sitting beside her. "What's wrong?"

"M-my thoulder hurtth," she whispered, a small sob escaping her.

"Your left?"

Jillianna nodded.

"Do you want your medicine?" Arabelle questioned softly, looking at her friend.

"N-no," Jillianna replied. "It'th not th-tho bad. It'th thtopping now."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, sniffling.

"Can we play dollth, pleathe?" Jillianna asked, wanting to change the subject off of her. "I don't want to talk about thith."

Arabelle nodded, and handed Jillianna one of her dolls. They were porcelain, and very dear to Arabelle's heart, but Jillianna was her friend, and deserved the best.

"Do you have any siblings?" Arabelle asked as they walked back into the school after recess.

Jillianna nodded.

"A baby brother, Jathon. He'th not like me, though; not weak."

"You're not weak," Arabelle cut in. "You just need a bit of help. Like my Papa. Papa's very strong. He's coming to take me home after school today. Perhaps he'll let come over after school!"

Jillianna smiled.

"That thoundth fun! I'll tell Mother when the cometh to get me."

The rest of that day passed without incident. Arabelle truly liked Jillianna. Though she was quiet and sick, she was kind. A good friend.

At the end of the school day, Arabelle walked out with Jillianna, smiling and happy.

Outside, she spotted her father at once, and went to him.

"I'll be right back, Jill," she told her friend as she trotted off. "Papa!" she laughed.

Erik opened his arms, and Arabelle jumped into them. He pulled her close to his chest, and kissed her curls.

"How was your day, dearest?" he asked, smiling.

"Wonderful, Papa!" Arabelle replied. "I made a new friend! Can she come over? Please?"

Erik smiled.

"Of course, dearest. Go and get her."

Arabelle laughed, clapping, and ran back to Jillianna.

"Mother thaid yeth," the blond smiled, looking at her excited, dark-haired new friend.

Arabelle took her friend's hand, laughing.

"Wonderful, Jill! Papa says you can come over as well!"

Arabelle tugged eagerly on Jillianna's hand, smiling as she pulled her friend over to her father.

Halfway there, she felt a responding tug, and heard Jillianna's gasp.

"Jill?"

"H-he'th tho tall," Jillianna whispered. "Why doeth he wear a mathk?"

Arabelle's eyes darkened slightly.

"It's hard to explain," she replied. "His face looks like a skull."

Jillianna looked slightly frightened, but allowed Arabelle to pull her the rest of the way to the tall man in the mask.

The girl his daughter dragged along with her was fragile, and pale, Erik noticed. She looked sickly, and he wondered if perhaps it wasn't the best of ideas for the child to be out in September, when the cool weather was beginning to set in.

He smiled, though, hoping to ease the pallid little girl's uneasiness.

"So, my darling," he said, looking to Arabelle. "This is your new friend?"

Arabelle nodded proudly.

"Her name's Jillianna."

Erik smiled kindly again.

"It's very nice to meet you, my dear."

"It'th my pleathure, thir," Jillianna whispered, still a bit shy.

Something about the little girl seemed vaguely familiar to Erik. The hair, the facial structure. He'd seen a woman who looked a lot like her somewhere before.

"What is your last name, Jillianna?' he asked gently.

"Morgan," the child replied softly, her hands clasped behind her back in nervousness.

He recognized the name. Once, when he'd gone with Christine to the theater, as Nadir watched Arabelle, he'd met a young blond woman named Emily Morgan. She'd had a very young girl following in her skirts, then. Hard to believe this child was that little thing. But even then, she'd been too small for her own good.

"I met your mother, once," Erik smiled. "A wonderful woman. Come."

He held out a hand to each girl. Arabelle took it eagerly, and with only a moment's hesitation – his hand was so different from her father's; long and thin – Jillianna took his other hand, and went with her new friend.

The woods made Jillianna nervous, but Arabelle was all but skipping. They were almost there, and Arabelle could just about see the top of the turret roof above her room.

The three were barely in the yard when a loud, deep, baying bark sounded and Phantom came bolting around the house straight toward Arabelle, who laughed, and met her dog halfway across the yard.

When Jillianna let out a sneeze, Erik looked down at her.

"Are you alright, dear?" he asked gently, an eyebrow raised behind the mask.

Jillianna nodded.

"I'm jutht allergic," she answered.

Erik frowned.

"To dogs?"

Again, Jillianna's pale head nodded yes.

"Arabelle," Erik called. "Keep Phantom outside when we go in, dearest. Jillianna says she's allergic."

Arabelle nodded in agreement, and stood up from where she was vigorously rubbing Phantom's black belly.

"Do you want to go up to my room, Jill?" she offered. "We can play with my dolls some more."

Jillianna nodded, smiling, and followed Arabelle into the house and up the stairs.

-

-

"Girls, dinner," Erik told them, stepping in through the door. Arabelle and Jillianna were seated on the floor, playing with the doll house Erik had made his daughter. "Come down and eat," he smiled.

Arabelle jumped up, Jillianna following at a slower pace.

"How was school?" Christine asked, setting out the plates and food.

"I had so much fun today, Mama!" Arabelle beamed.

"Yes," her mother smiled. "Papa told me about your young friend. It's very nice to meet you, Jillianna."

"It'th nithe to meet you, too, Mrth. Dethtler," Jillianna responded with a smile.

Christine returned the warm look, and sat down next to Erik.

It was a nice dinner, and after, Erik took Jillianna home.

Arabelle smiled, and hugged her friend goodbye.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jill," she whispered.

"Thee you tomorrow."

XxX  
Woah, this is a long chapter. Glad I didn't try to write it all at once; I've been working on it for a while I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Review, please!


	12. Nightmare

Nightmare  
XxX

Erik was asleep. His dreams were of his family, happy and content. He dreamed of Arabelle in her latter childhood, a beautiful teenager, with her curling hair, and bright yellow eyes.

He dreamed of Christine, holding him in years to come, and loving him endlessly.

-

-

It was raining. The drops pelted against the glass windows, and lightning and thunder crashed in the night.

In her bed, Arabelle tossed, sitting bolt upright in bed as the lightning flashed outside her window, masking her scream of fear.

That cursed demon! It had worn her Papa's mask, and terrified her. It had taken her dog and her mama, and Papa was nowhere to be found.

Tears in her eyes, she looked around the room, as if expecting that monstrous evil to come back to get her.

Seeing nothing, she quietly got out of bed, and moved toward the door, her steps shaking and cautious.

Slowly, she opened the door, and looked around the hall. The door across the way was closed, her parents hopefully just behind it.

Tiptoeing across the hall, she started when there came a tapping against the window. With a gasp of terror, she looked, only to see a tree branch blowing into the window against the wind.

Trembling, she continued forward, and slowly pushed open the door.

A noise behind her made her turn, tears again ready to flow. But it was only Phantom, staring up at her with his head tilted to one side.

He'd grown a lot since she'd first gotten him. Now, he was almost completely black, his soft brown eyes fitting into his face better than when he was just a pup.

His ears had lost their flop, and now stood almost straight up, save for the tip on the left, which was bent over, adding a look of innocense to the rare dog.

Arabelle knelt, and wrapped her arms around her dog, sobbing into Phantom's thick fur. The pup pulled away to lick her face gently, looking at her with a quiet, animal concern in his dark eyes.

"Phantom, I'm scared," Arabelle whispered around her tears. "We've got to get to Papa and Mama, Phantom." Slowly, she stood, motioning for him to come. "Come on, boy."

Silently, the two crept into the room. Arabelle could not see her parents clearly, but she could make out the shadows of their bodies on the bed.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, startling her, and Arabelle was at the bed at once, whimpering for her papa, shaking his shoulder in fear.

"Papa," she sobbed, trying to wake him. "Papa, please!"

Erik frowned in his sleep, murmuring, and slowly opening his eyes.

Why was Arabelle here? It was well past midnight, surely; she ought to be sound asleep.

"Dearest?" he asked gently. "Whatever is the matter?"

Arabelle threw herself into his arms, sobbing about the mask and the monster that had tricked her into believing that it was her papa. She'd been horrified when the demon pulled away the mask and revealed itself.

She remembered how it had chased her, taking her mother, who had tried to buy her and Phantom time to get away.

Arabelle was crying as she retold her dream. Erik couldn't completely understand her, but the basic plot of the nightmare had come across painfully clear.

_My poor baby..._

She'd gone straight to her room, Phantom at her side. At the doorway, the little dog had turned to face the terror, only to be sucked with a yelp into the darkness that surrounded the demon.

And her Papa had been nowhere to help her.

"Dearest, Arabelle - shh, my darling love. Hush now baby, hush," he crooned, trying to soothe her tears. "It's alright, Arabelle, _mon petit ange. _I'm here. I'm right here."

Erik pulled back enough to gently brush the tears from her face. He kissed her forehead and cheeks, and pulled her in close again, allowing her to find her comfort by burrowing her face into his chest. Her little shoulders still shook, but at least the tears had stopped for now.

"Papa," she whimpered, curling further into his middle and tightening her grip around his neck.

Erik gently rubbed her back, attempting to calm her down, shushing her gently.

"I-I couldn't find you," Arabelle whispered, eyes closed tightly as the tears started again. "Y-you weren't h-home, Papa!"

"Dearest, shhhh," Erik soothed, stroking her hair. "I'm here. I'll always be here. I would _never _leave you and your mother alone. You believe me, don't you Arabellle, love?"

Arabelle nodded against his chest, sniffling.

"Yes, Papa."

Erik smiled encouragingly.

"All right, dear-heart," he whispered, kissing her forehead again. "Let's go back to your room before we wake Mama."

"S-stay with me?" Arabelle begged.

Erik rubbed her back as he stood, holding her against his chest.

"Of course, lovely," he assured. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep. Is that alright?"

Arabelle nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Her fright and her tears had exhausted her, but she wouldn't be able to sleep without her Papa there to calm her.

"Papa?" she asked quietly as he lay her on her bed. "Will you sing me a song, please?"

Erik smiled, gently cupping her cheek.

"Certainly, dearest."

He pulled her back into his arms, holding her close to his heart, and began to sing softly for her, rocking her gently.

_"Baby mine, don't you cry.  
Baby mine, dry your eyes.  
Rest your head close to my heart,  
never to part, baby of mine._

_Little one, when you play,  
Don't you mind what they say.  
Let your eyes sparkle and shine,  
never a tear, baby of mine._

_If they knew sweet little you,  
they'd end up loving you, too.  
All those same people who scolded you,  
what they'd give just for the right to hold you._

_From your hair down to your toes,  
you're not much, goodness knows.  
But, you're so precious to me,  
sweet as can be, baby of mine."_

He smiled gently at her peaceful, sleeping face, and lay her back on the mattress, pulling the covers up over her, and tucking them in around her dear little body.

From the floor, Phantom made a quiet noise, then cocked his head up at Erik, looking at him intently. Erik smiled, and patted the bed next to Arabelle. The dog jumped lightly up, curling into a ball, head resting on his mistress's chest.

In her sleep, Arabelle turned to her side, and wrapped her arms around him, a small smile coming over her tear-pinked face. With tender love, Erik gently brushed a stray lock of her beloved black curls back behind her ear, a small, fond smile on his face.

"Oh, baby," he sighed, letting his thin hand rest against her cheek for a while. "You have no _idea _how much you mean to me."

With a soft kiss to her temple, he stood, made sure the blankets were tucked close around her, and returned to his own room.

Christine woke when he slid back into bed, and she murmured, her eyes blinking open.

"Erik?" she muttered, half asleep. "What's the matter?"

Erik gently pushed her back down against the pillow.

"It's alright, Christine," he assured her. "Nothing is wrong, now. Arabelle just had a nightmare, poor darling. She's alright."

Christine saw the look in Erik's eyes; he was still concerned for their daughter.

"Phantom is with her, isn't he?" she asked softly, now fully awake.

Erik nodded.

"He is. He's a very good dog."

Christine nodded, then pressed herself close to Erik when a sudden bolt of lightning startled them both.

Erik waited, poised and tense, for the shout he was sure he'd hear from Arabelle's room. It did not come. A smile found his face, and he sighed, glad she was able to sleep through the storm now.

"Did she tell you her dream?" Christine asked softly.

Erik nodded.

"A demon stole my mask and made her believe it was me," he told her. "She said you tried to

stop it, but that it took you away, then Phantom. I wasn't there, evidently."

Christine frowned. Clearly, Arabelle was frightened that something would happen to their family.

Perhaps the storm brought it on. She'd never seemed insecure before.

"You made sure she was alright?"

"Of course," Erik replied, kissing her lips. "She slept a few minutes after I brought her back to her room."

"You sang," Christine muttered, sleep pulling at her again. "I heard you."

She buried her face in his chest, cuddling close to him and sighing contentedly, a small smile on her face.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Erik whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I hadn't realized I was that loud, Christine. I apologize."

Christine shook her head.

"It was a beautiful song, Erik," she sighed, yawning. "You are such a wonderful father, Erik."

Erik's breath momentarily caught.

_Oh, Christine...._

She was wonderful. She was so kind to him. Her words were so encouraging and filled with the love he'd always wanted.

"Erik?"

Christine's voice was soft in the night.

"Will you sing for me? Like you used to?"

Erik smiled, and brushed his fingers over her cheek.

"Of course, _mon ange._

_It's time to get some rest  
So you can start another day  
And catch a dream or two  
To help you sail along the way_

_So rest your body now  
Tomorrow is another day  
I've got a little feeling  
Special things will come your way_

_Just rest your body now  
Tomorrow is another day  
I've got a little feeling  
Special things will come our way_."

He had to smile. She looked just as peaceful as Arabelle had moments ago.

He gently kissed her eyelids, smirking when she mumbled his name in her sleep, cuddling closer into his arms.

Erik rested his chin on top of her head, stroking her soft brown curls.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, bright almost as the day, giving him a clear view of her beautiful, resting face.

"I love you," he whispered. "I can't believe how much I love you. Before you, and Arabelle, there was nothing. Nothing at all."

He kissed her again, soft and tender on her forehead.

"I would be dead if not for you," he whispered against her skin, closing his eyes, and tightening his hold on her.

"My Christine..."

XxX  
Chapter done. Did you all like it? I hope so. Review, please!


	13. Music of a Soul

Hey, guys.

So, my plans for this weekend just fell completely through. Oh well. More time for stories and The Sims. *sigh* I just hope she doesn't have the swine flu (my friend and I were supposed to go away with my mom for the weekend, but my friend got sick. She'll be fine. She's always fine). Eh, what can you do?

Erik: Do you mean that 'Jenny' girl you're always talking about?

Yeah. Anyway, back to writing. Erik, you'll like this chapter. Arabelle and a violin.

Erik: *grin*

Yep. That's my Erik-muse, folks. Well, on with the story!

Music of a Soul  
XxX

"Very good," Erik praised. "You are doing much better, dearest."

Arabelle smiled up at her father from her chair, her small violin in her hand. She placed it back under her chin, and ran through the tune again. Her dress had been a birthday present two weeks ago. It was a pretty, deep red color, so fitting of her.

Erik closed his eyes, smiling. She was talented, that was certain. Perhaps the song was too simple for her.

He reached behind him to the top of the piano in the music room, and pulled from the stack of sheets, the violin music to 'Angels, We Have Heard on High'. It was fast paced, and difficult for one as young as her, but with Christmas approaching again, it seemed appropriate.

"Try this one, Arabelle."

Arabelle took the papers, nodding, and set them up on the music stand, looking over the notes before setting her bow to the string.

She was below tempo, and on some of the more difficult sections, she stumbled through, but it was her first time playing the piece. She made it through, though, and began again, this time doing much better than before.

"Beautiful, dear-heart," Erik smiled. "That's enough for today. If you play too long and too hard, your fingers may bleed. Wouldn't want you hurt, would we?"

Arabelle shook her head, curls bouncing, eyes dancing.

She got off her chair, and wrapped her arms around Erik's waist as he sat on the piano bench.

"I love you, Papa," she sighed, cheek pressed against his chest.

Erik returned her embrace, and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, too, dearest," he smiled. "I am very proud of you, you know. You are doing so well, _mon cherie. _So very well."

Arabelle smiled at the encouragement, leaned up to kiss his cheek, then bounded off to the living room, presumably to play her violin more. She loved the instrument, and when she wasn't playing with Phantom or her dolls, or hearing one of Erik's stories, she was playing her music, making up tunes across the strings, and losing herself in a world of music and soul-deep sounds.

Erik wondered if - and strongly hoped that - she would always be that way. She obviously loved music. Hopefully it would serve her later in her life. He closed his eyes, and could almost see her as a teenager, playing through even more difficult songs than 'Angels, We Have Heard on High'. Perhaps 'Ding Dong, Merrily On High', or reels. After all, it couldn't be Christmas all the time. She'd learned other music before, and she'd surely branch out to it again once the holidays were past.

They were drawing close to Christmas Break, which only made Arabelle even more excited. She enjoyed school, yes, but time off always seemed to excite her beyond much else.

With a happy sigh, Erik left the music room, and went to find Christine. She was in the living room, sewing something, like she often did. In his bed, Phantom chewed contentedly on his bone, making small growling sounds in the back of his throat as he gnawed on the toy.

Arabelle was curled on the other couch, looking over more music sheets, and fingering the notes on her small violin. She was lost in her world of music now.

That brought a smile to Erik's face, and he sat next to Christine, kissing her cheek, and smiling when she turned her head so that their lips met instead.

"Hello, love," Christine smiled.

Erik wrapped his arms around her, and Christine curled into his side, sighing.

On the other couch, Arabelle quietly began to play the song she was working on.

"You are doing wonderful, dear-heart," Erik told her, pride in his eyes. Her love of music was a great thing of joy to him.

Arabelle blushed slightly, a small smile on her face.

-

-

"She ought to be asleep," Christine groaned, arm thrown over her eyes.

Erik laughed.

"I agree," he smirked. "But she loves that violin."

He kissed her cheek, and slid out of bed.

"I'll get her to bed, Christine. Don't worry."

Christine nodded, and turned on her side.

"Hurry back," she murmured.

Erik smiled.

He walked out the door, toward Arabelle's room, and stopped in the doorway.

"You really should be asleep, dearest," Erik said, arms crossed.

Arabelle started, looking up and almost dropping the violin.

"Papa..."

Erik crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He looked at her for a moment, and noticed the tiredness in her eyes. Gently, he pulled the violin from her grip, a small smile on his face.

"I know you love music, Arabelle," he told her. "But you need your rest. You have to be able to go to school in the morning."

"I will be," Arabelle assured him, beginning to reach for her instrument. Erik held it out of her reach.

"No," he said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. "You must go to sleep, Arabelle. You have to be able to concentrate in the morning without falling asleep."

He set the instrument in its case, and put it in it's place near the shelf of her books.

Returning to her side, he gently pushed her back down against her pillows, and tucked the blankets up around her.

"You want Santa Clause to bring you gifts this year, yes?" Erik asked, playing his trump card.

Arabelle nodded, her eyes going wide.

Erik smiled.

"Of course you do. But he won't give you anything if you don't behave, little love."

He kissed her forehead, and patted her hand.

"Now, go to sleep, Arabelle. And _no more _violin tonight. I do not wish to take it away from you, but I will if I must."

Arabelle nodded, and closed her eyes.

"Good night, Papa," she whispered.

"Good night, dearest."

"Papa?"

Erik turned.

"I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too, Arabelle," he replied. "Go to sleep."

Arabelle nodded.

Erik was almost out of the door when she spoke again.

"Papa..."

"What, Arabelle?" The edge had returned to his voice. "You need to go to sleep."

She was silent for a moment, then quietly; "I'm sorry, Papa. I promise I won't do this again."

Erik smiled. He knew she meant the words.

"I believe you, dear-heart," he told her, returning and kissing her forehead. "Get some rest, my dear Arabelle."

Arabelle smiled tiredly, her eyes sliding closed.

-

-

"What are you doing?" Jillianna asked as they sat in a corner of the school room at recess.

"Writing," Arabelle replied.

"That doethn't look like writing, Arabelle," the blond said.

"It's music," the dark-haired girl replied. "Papa taught me how to write it."

"I remember that," Jillianna agreed. "Are you going to play at the Chrithtmath thelebrathion at Athbury?"

Arabelle nodded. Asbury Methodist was the church her family went to. Her mother seemed far more religious than her father.

She knew her mother was catholic, but there were only Protestant churches around. And her papa didn't seem comfortable even in those plain places of worship. Arabelle liked the simple Asbury Methodist church. It was a pleasant little place, an that was where Jillianna's family worshiped, so she was more than content to go there on Sundays.

"I think so," Arabelle said. She looked back at the papers. It was a bright melody, far more happy than many of her father's pieces, which she'd seen. And yet, there was still an undercurrent of something almost bleak. Perhaps it was from her undersanding that the world could be cruel. After all, they'd hurt her papa just because he looked different, and was smarter than most everybody else. A world that did such a thing _had _to be cruel. And it had certainly left a bit of a mark on her; an indignant, defensive mark.

"I can't wait for Chrithtmath," Jillianna sighed.

"'Can't wait for Christmas'?" a girl said snidely. "You can't even say it!"

Arabelle bristled, and glared at the girl. Her hair was a curly, golden blond color. Her eyes were blue, but terribly unfriendly. She was smirking cruelly, obviously pleased with herself for the comment.

"Leave her alone," Arabelle ordered, setting aside her music and standing up in front of Jillianna. "She's done nothing to you."

"So?" the girl snapped.

"So stop bothering her, or I'll tell Mrs. Ingrham."

Arabelle's voice was cold and sharp.

"Do you even know who I am?" the girl demanded.

"No," Arabelle replied. _And I'm not sure I'd want to._

_"I'm _Giselle de Chagny," the girl stated haughtily. "And _you _need better friends." Giselle sneered at Jillianna, and Arabelle growled.

"I can choose my own friends, thank you," Arabelle replied coldly. "Come on, Jill, let's go back to our seats."

Jillianna nodded, handed Arabelle her music sheets, and followed the younger girl back to their desk.

Behind them, Giselle glowered, but Arabelle and Jillianna didn't notice or care.

"You really are good at that, Arabelle," Jillianna said.

Arabelle smiled slightly.

"Thanks, Jill," she muttered. "Papa teaches me everything they don't teach here. At least, everything I ask about."

After school, Arabelle went home with Erik. The moment she was through the door, she was heading for her room, and her violin. Almost at once, music began to sound out.

Erik smiled as Christine wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.

"She is doing well," Christine remarked.

Erik nodded.

"Very," he agreed. "In school as well as with her music."

"She likes school, doesn't she?" Christine asked.

Erik smiled.

"Yes," he replied. "Though, she's told me some of the students don't exactly take kindly to her little friend. And -" Erik paused, drawing breath to get out the obviously difficult words. "There are Chagny's here."

Christine laughed out loud at the look on his face.

"You'll never forgive that name, will you, my love?" she smiled.

"Not when that particular name nearly proved the death of me."

Christine scoffed, rolling her eyes, and smiling fondly.

"Your stubborn pride and jealousy were nearly the death of you," she retorted, smirking, and turning back into the kitchen to work on dinner.

Erik pouted, then followed after her.

"_Forgive _me for not wanting to lose you, my dear," he said playfully, spinning her around and pulling her close. "Didn't you know? The Phantom of the Opera _never _loses."

"Erik," Christine sighed, laying her cheek against his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat, and she treasured that sound. Treasured it as she did his touch, and his steady breathing.

Above them, Arabelle continued to play her music. Phantom jumped onto the bed beside her, and curled up, tail wagging as he listened to his mistress's music.

Arabelle giggled, and stopped playing long enough to ruffle Phantom's fur.

"You're a good boy, Phantom," she smiled, returning to her music.

She loved music. Something deep inside her always pulled pleasantly when she heard, or played music. It only made matters better that her interest made her father proud. She loved making him proud.

After a while, she grew tired of playing, and set the violin back in it's case. She reached instead for the book of music sheets that Erik had bought her on her fifth birthday, and jotted down what was floating around in her head.

It was a light-hearted melody for the most part, but somewhere in the middle, an undercurrent of darkness crept in. She liked it. It made it sound even more pretty, and it reflected her more than other pieces. Because she knew, as surely as her father knew it was in him, she knew that there was a bit of darkness in her. It was what made her watch in morbid fascination as a fly was caught and eaten by a spider on an outside corner of the house.

She loved to watch spiders eat. It entranced her. The way the fly struggled in the web, as the spider scuttled closer, and sunk in its fangs to imobilize - or kill, she wasn't sure - its prey.

The way the spider wrapped the fly, then, in fibers of the web was gracefully macabre, and she loved to watch.

But she herself would not hurt a living creature. Only animals had the right to hurt other animals. Because, as her papa had explained, that was nature. Man did not have to kill spiders or other 'unwholesome' creatures to survive.

That darkness, however, was superficial at best. She was, for the most part, a light little soul, if a tad morbid. A lot of what she wrote had been inspired by the mouse Mysty, and the little squirrel-kit she'd rescued that past spring. It's tail had been bitten by a bigger, more than likely predatory, animal, and she'd been furious, even as the shining crimson blood mesmerized her.

This piece, she decided, was about that squirrel. The light-hearted beginning of how she'd been playing in the woods before she'd found it, the pity of the injured little animal, the dark amazement at the red, red life-force, the quick healing, and slow growing-up of her baby squirrel.

She'd relased it in August, her heart sad at the thought of letting the young creature go. It had been with her longer than Mysty, and she'd named him Spike, for the little tuft of fur on his head that resembled a spike.

She'd miss that little squirrel, but she was happy it was free, and alive. She'd seen him since, skittering through the yard, and over the back of the rock fence.

But what her love of music all came down to was as simple as it was obvious; it reflected what was inside her, the music of a soul.

XxX  
Chapter done. As a warning, little Jill's health will become a _slight _issue in the next few chapters. No one dies, I promise. I hope you all liked the chapter. Review, please! Reviews make me happy *spontaneous chibi-fication* *grins*


	14. Fragile

Here's the next chapter!

Fragile  
XxX

Arabelle held Erik's hand, all but bouncing on the way to school. She couldn't wait to see Jillianna. The weekend had seemed to take forever. She was more than happy to return to school, and her friend.

Erik hugged her goodbye in the schoolyard.

"Have a wonderful day, dearest," he smiled.

"I will, Papa," Arabelle replied. "See you tonight."

Erik nodded, and walked away.

Arabelle looked around, waiting. Jillianna was always here first, and she always came to say hello before school started.

But today, her friend was nowhere to be found.

"Arabelle!"

It was Cody. Arabelle smiled, and ran over to him.

"Hello, Cody," she greeted. "What are you guys playing?"

"We're racing," a boy with scruffy red-blond hair answered. "But you can't play, you'd get your dress dirty. _And, _you'd never beat us."

Arabelle smirked. She loved a challenge.

"Wanna bet?" she grinned.

The boy nodded, and they each took a position next to a tree.

"Once around the schoolhouse," Cody instructed. "Come back and touch the tree to finish." He stepped to the side. "Ready..... set..... – "

Arabelle planted one foot in front of the other, lowering her body into something of a crouch, leaning forward, waiting for Cody's signal.

"_Go!" _the older boy shouted, his hand coming down. Arabelle took off.

She ran as fast as she could, feet pounding the ground, arms pumping at her sides, breath racing. Her hair flapped behind her in it's twisted ponytail (while it was usually the mother who fixed a daughter's hair, Erik loved her soft hair, and it was him she went to).

She could see the boy, barely in front of her as they reached the other side of the schoolhouse. Even as she ran, she kept an eye out for Jillianna, incase her friend had been on this side of the building, and hadn't seen her.

She forced herself to go faster, and steadily overtook the boy as they rounded back to the other side of the school.

Everyone watching could clearly see Arabelle take the lead, and she kept it, pushing faster, slapping the tree as she passed it, slowing only when she'd felt the bark beneath her hands first.

She'd won. A triumphant, friendly smirk spread across her face as she turned to the other boy.

"Told you," she teased playfully, holding out her hand for the boy to shake. "But you almost beat me."

The boy was slightly red in the face, and Arabelle supposed she must look a bit disheveled, too. They were both panting, but she didn't mind.

"You'll be on my team, next time, Arabelle," Cody praised. "We'd never lose with someone like you on our side. Daniel here is the fastest in school."

"_Was _the fastest," another boy corrected. "That was incredible."

Arabelle blushed under the praise, and smiled.

"Children!" Mrs. Ingrahm called. "School is starting. Everyone come inside, now!"

With one last glance around, Arabelle sighed, and followed everyone else inside.

Her desk felt empty with only her sitting there.

"She's not here, Mrs. Ingrahm," Arabelle whispered into the silent room when the teacher called Jillianna's name.

The day was quiet and almost torture without Jillianna.

She climbed trees with Cody and his friends, but she would have preferred sitting with Jillianna.

"What's the matter, Arabelle?" Cody asked from the branch next to her. "You've been so quiet lately."

Arabelle sighed.

"I haven't seen Jill all day," she replied sadly.

Cody smiled in understanding.

"She's that little blond girl you're always hanging around isn't she?"

Arabelle nodded.

All through that day, she had a sense that something had happened to her friend. She didn't want to think that Jillianna had been hurt. She was such a nice girl, she didn't deserve it.

Her father was waiting for her at the end of the day. He was wearing the red scarf he'd had since before she could remember to keep his neck warm against the autumn wind.

Erik opened his arms to her, and she smiled slightly, moving into his warm embrace, and sighing.

He knew at once something was off. Her smile hadn't reached her eyes like it ought to, and he knelt down, taking her gently by the shoulders.

"What's the matter, dearest?" he asked gently.

Arabelle shook her head.

"It's not important," she mumbled.

Erik frowned. Something was bothering her.

"Arabelle, you can tell me," he assured her. "Did someone say something to you? You know you don't have to deal with bullies, dear-heart."

Again Arabelle shook her head.

"Jill wasn't here today," she sighed. "I'm scared something is wrong."

Erik nodded in fatherly understanding. Jillianna's mother had warned him of the child's heart condition when she'd first spent the night at Arabelle's home. Fortunately, nothing had happened, and the night had passed quite uneventfully. Though, poor Phantom had certainly felt left out.

"Alright," he smiled. "After school tomorrow, we'll call to see what's happened, if she isn't in school."

Arabelle nodded, and took his hand, letting her papa lead her home.

-

-

Jillianna was not in school the next day. With Arabelle nearly in tears from worry, Erik called her friend's mother.

Jillianna would not be in school the rest that week, maybe not the rest, depending on how she recovered. The doctor had said that she would need to rest. She'd suffered some sort of heart trouble, and would be on bed rest until the next day at the least. Her mother said, in response to Erik's sensitive question, that no, she was not in pain unless she had to move, and then it was only slight.

Erik explained it all to Arabelle as gently as he could, that Jillianna would be fine. But still, her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, and when at last a single round drop fell, Erik gently brushed it away with his thumb, holding her face lightly in his hands.

"She'll be perfectly alright, dearest," he said again, pulling her into a hug. "I know it is frightening when someone you care for is not well. Believe me, I know. But Jillianna is going to be just fine."

Arabelle sniffled against his shirt. Once that first tear had fallen, the others followed quickly, and the spot where her face was pressed against was getting a bit wet.

Erik held his daughter close and let her cry.

After a while, he pulled back, held her by her shoulders, and looked into her eyes, once again wiping away her tears.

"Jill's mother also said you may visit her tomorrow, Arabelle," he said, smiling. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Arabelle nodded softly, trying to smile.

Erik smiled, and kissed her cheeks.

"Good. Now, go on upstairs and play, dear-heart."

Arabelle sighed, and trotted off to her room.

"Oh, Phantom," she sighed, sitting on the window seat next to her dog. "I hope Papa's right. I really want Jill to be okay, boy. She's my best friend, next to Papa and you."

-

-

All that next day, Arabelle was impatient, and jittery. She really wanted to see Jillianna. Much as she believed her father that her friend was going to be alright, some part of her still needed to see herself to be sure.

Jillianna's room was on the second floor, in the back, away from the street, and noise. Her family lived more in town that Arabelle's, and there was a good deal more traffic around the house.

"Jill?" Arabelle called softly, stepping into the room. The gas lamp on her night stand was burning, and when she saw her friend, Jillianna's face broke into a bright grin.

"Arabelle!"

Her friendly voice was strained and quiet, and she was pale. Her eyes were shadowed, and her hair looked even more limp.

Arabelle went straight across to sit on the edge of her friend's bed.

"How are you feeling, Jill?" she asked quietly, looking the blond girl over.

"Not tho bad," Jillianna replied. "Though, if I move, my chetht hurtth."

Arabelle nodded.

"Papa said that was what your mama told him."

Jillianna smiled, then broke into a coughing fit. It wasn't much, but by it's end, she was shaking, and her hands were pressed against her chest in obvious pain.

"Jill?" Arabelle asked softly a few moments after the coughs subsided. "Are you better now?"

Jillianna nodded faintly, eyes still closed.

"Does your chest hurt?"

Jillianna whimpered.

"A bit, yeth," she muttered,

"Do you want your medicine?" Arabelle suggested. "That's it on the table, right?"

Jillianna nodded again.

"P-pleathe," she whispered, pale eyes following Arabelle's movements as the dark haired girl reached for the bottle of syrup.

"Mother thayth the dothe ith a thpoonful," Jillianna murmured.

Arabelle nodded, and grabbed the spoon there, too. She uncorked the bottle of medicine, and poured some into the spoon, and held it to her friend's lips.

Jillianna drank the swallow of syrup and pulled a face.

"I never liked how it tathted," she mumbled, and Arabelle giggled.

"Papa didn't like his medicine either," she sighed. "He had pneumonia two winters ago, and he _hated _how the medicine tasted. He told me it was yucky."

Jillianna laughed quietly, and inside, Arabelle smiled. At least her friend was smiling now.

"I'm glad you're going to be okay, Jill," Arabelle said softly.

Jillianna nodded.

"What happened?"

The blond closed her eyes and shrugged, looking almost frightened.

"I-I don't know, Arabelle," she replied. "I wath with Mother in the garden, and..... And my chetht hurt tho bad... I wath tho thcared. But Mother brought me inthide, and gave me my medithine, and called Doctor Mathon. He thaid it wathn't very bad, tho I guethth I'll be okay."

Arabelle smiled.

"I'll miss you at school, Jill," she said, her voice a bit sad.

"I'll be back thoon, though," Jillianna responded. The tone in her voice made Arabelle wonder just who she was trying to convince.

They sat together for a long while. Downstairs, Erik sat in the living room with Jillianna's parents.

"How is she, really?" he asked quietly. "I do not mean to pry, but I wonder. She is such a sweet child."

Jillianna's mother was silent for a while, and it was her husband that spoke up.

"The doctor has said all along, that it is very likely she'll live to bear children, though it may prove additional strain to her body, considering."

Erik nodded. He suddered internally to think what would have happened to Christine while she'd carried Arabelle if she'd been the one with the heart condition.

"I really am glad though, that she and my Arabelle are friends," he smiled. "As I said, she is such a dear little thing."

"Yes," Jillianna's mother sighed. "It is nice to see that Jill has a friend. She's been lonely."

It was pleasant, talking to his daughter's friend's parents, but when the sun began to set, Erik excused himself, and went to get Arabelle to go home.

"Mrs. Morgan?" she asked softly, looking up at her friend's mother. "May I come and see Jill tomorrow?"

Mrs. Morgan smiled slightly.

"I Jill would very much like that, dear," she replied.

Arabelle beamed.

"Thank you, ma'am. And I hope Jill feels better soon."

"She will," Emily Morgan said quietly. "She ought to be back in school some time next week."

Arabelle nodded.

"Good night, Mrs. Morgan," she whispered.

"Good night, dear," the mother returned.

Erik inclined his head respectfully.

"Good night, Madam," he smiled.

"Good night, Mr. Destler," Emily replied.

"Papa?" Arabelle muttered as they walked down the road.

Erik turned to look at his daughter.

"What is it, dearest?" he asked gently, smiling encouragingly.

"Will Jill really be okay?" she questioned, looking up trustingly at Erik.

Erik smiled.

"Of course, Arabelle," he assured her. "Yes, she is quite ill, but her father told me that doctors say she has a very good chance of growing up, and having a wonderful life. Don't you worry about her. She's fragile, yes, but what have I always said? It's the fragile ones that surprise us with their true strength."

XxX  
Chapter is done. yay. I hope you all liked it. Review, please!


	15. Protect You Always

Happy belated Halloween, everyone. This chapter was inspired by a prievew for a show about how Jack the Ripper really did come to America sometime in the late 1800s. And while, from what I know, no deaths happened in Connecticut, for the sake of the story, there has been one in Bristol.

Back to the story before I give away the whole plot.

Protect You Always  
XxX

The sun was warm today. Winter had turned to spring again, and spring to summer, and now it was early fall once more.

In the schoolyard, Arabelle laughed, and jumped down the hopscotch path, then stood back as Jillianna went through the ten-square course, slightly slower, and more off balance.

Both girls ended up lying on their backs in the grass, giggling, and pointing out the clouds that looked like something.

"It'th a bunny, Arabelle," Jillianna exclained, laughing brightly. "Look!"

"I see it," Arabelle smiled, following her friend's pointing finger.

"What are you doing?"

It was Giselle Chagny, and beside her stood another girl, who looked just like her, with the same snide look on her face.

"Leve uth alone," Jillianna demanded. "We aren't doing anything wrong."

"You talk funny," the girl next to Giselle frowned. "Are you stupid?"

The next thing anyone knew, the girl was on the ground, Arabelle glaring down at her.

"Don't call my friend stupid, you mean snot!" Arabelle snarled.

The girl backed up, looking slightly frightened.

"Why are your eyes yellow?" she demanded.

Arabelle glared, her chin raised proudly, eyes cold.

"They're like my papa's," she hissed. "I love his eyes."

"Mother says yellow eyes are a sign of the Devil," Giselle smirked. "Is your papa the Devil? I bet he looks like one. I heard about that mask. Why does he wear it?"

"I would _never _tell someone like you," Arabelle growled.

"Arabelle," Jillianna whispered. "Pleathe don't make them angry..."

"You should listen to her, you know," Giselle's look-a-like said cruelly. "I'll tell Mother the child of the Devil goes to our school, and she'll run your family of _demons _right out of Bristol!"

Arabelle lunged forward, but Jillianna grabbed her hand, stopping her.

"It'th not worth getting in trouble, Arabelle," she whispered. "Pleathe don't fight them."

"My name is Monique de Chagny," Giselle's sister said haughtily. "_Don't _forget that name. It's the last you'll hear as you're being run out of town, _freak-girl!"_

"Can't you two _ever _be nice?"

The boy who spoke had soft, dark hair, and his eyes were brown, unlike the two girls. But the facial structure was the same, and the shape of the eyes.

"Philipe," Giselle sneered. "Why can't you be smart and leave us alone?"

"Because you're never anything more than bullies, and I can't _believe _you're my sisters," Philippe snapped. "Now go away."

Giselle glared at him for a moment, then humfed, turned on her heel and turned away, Monique following after her.

With the girls gone, Arabelle could look at the boy. His hair was a deep, redish dark brown, and his skin was fair and soft. He smiled slightly.

"I'm sorry about them," he muttered. "My sister's aren't very nice, I'm afraid."

Arabelle glared after the two other Chagny's as they went back into the building.

-

-

Erik sighed, leaning back in his chair and unfolding the paper. He would have passed the front page at a quick glance if he hadn't seen the headline about a murder.

Shocked, he looked at the headline;

_Jack the Ripper's Work? Some Say Yes._

Jack the Ripper. He'd heard about him in papers before, how he'd gone on a mass murder spree in London, but he'd thought it was no threat to his family. Frowning, he read into the article.

_A big problem in London, Jack the Ripper was feared throughout England. Five prostitutes at least were murdered by his hand. Now, investigators believe Jack the Ripper is in America!_

_A suspicious murder took place last night on 2nd street in Thomaston. The victim was a young woman, abdomen stabbed repeatedly, and throat slashed. The victim worked in the Thomaston Opera house, and had for the past six years._

Erik's heart began to pound. A young woman who worked at the Thomaston Opera house.

His hands shook and he didn't bother to read the rest of the article. Something inside him, coupled with the picture of a mutilated body told him this _was _the very Jack the Ripper he'd heard of. Somehow he knew it was that man.

And the vague description of the murder victim didn't help his already suddenly frayed nerves. All he could think was _not Christine, _over and over.

He left the house in a hurry, and rather than flagging a cab, rented one from a man, and headed right to Arabelle's school. As soon as he picked up his daughter, he would go to find Christine - praying all the while that she was not the one murdered.

-

-

The knock on the door startled everyone in the school, and Mrs. Ingrahm walked cautiously toward the door. She was on edge. She'd read the paper that morning, and she knew about the murder. While she did not believe it could possibly be Jack the Ripper, she would take any and every precaution to protect her students.

The man standing before her wore a white mask, concealing his identity, but there was only one person she could think of who would have the same yellow eyes as Arabelle.

"Mr. Destler, I assume?"

Erik nodded urgently, stepping into the room.

"I need to see my daughter, please," he said nervously, glancing around the room.

"Papa?"

Arabelle stood from her desk, confused. What was going on? Why was her papa here?

With a breath of relief - he hadn't expected to find that she'd come to harm, but he still didn't know what he'd find; after all, the paper had said the murderer wasn't caught - he stepped toward her, and opened his arms to hug her close.

"Oh, dearest," he sighed. "I need to take her out early, Madam," he addressed the teacher. "I apologize for interrupting your class, but I need Arabelle."

"Of course," Mrs. Ingrahm nodded.

Erik smiled shakily, then took Arabelle's hand, pulling her toward the door.

"Come, dear-heart," he said breathily. "We must go."

Arabelle frowned, and tried to ask what was wrong as Erik handed her into the carriage.

"You mustn't ask, Arabelle," he told her. "I cannot tell you. Not when you are still so young. Though you may soon find out anyway. But you stay in here until I get you out, alright? I'd let you sit with me, but I will be driving rather fast, and I do not want you to fall off."

Arabelle nodded, so confused, wishing she wasn't so young, as her papa shouted to the horses, and the carriage took off.

Leaning out the window, Arabelle could just see her father at the driver's seat.

"Papa?" she called up to him. "Where are we going?"

"To see your mother," Erik replied, barely turning.

When the carriage at last stopped, Erik got in, and sat across from Arabelle, looking her straight in the eyes, his own yellow irises serious.

"I want you to understand, dearest," he began, voice gentle, though stern. "Something bad has happened. I do not know if your mother is involved, but whether she is or not, I could not leave you alone. You mean so much to me, and I promise I will not let you come to harm, alright?"

"What's happened, Papa?"

Something in Arabelle's eyes loosed his tongue, and he told her.

"A woman was killed sometime yesterday," he explained slowly. Had Arabelle been any other five-year-old, he never would have considered telling her, but the little girl understood much. "The article in the newspaper did not give a name, only that the woman was young, and worked here at the Thomaston Opera House. I need to know who it was that was killed, and as I dare not leave you alone, even in this carriage with the curtains drawn, you _must _stay right at my side every minute, understand? _Do not _let go of my hand, Arabelle. If I lose you, I may never find you again."

The last sentence had been a weakness; the admittence of his greatest fear. He feared losing Arabelle above all else, and would never forgive himself if she were to be killed.

There were great crowds around the opera house. Everyone was in a panic after the murder, and Erik clutched Arabelle's hand tightly til he could stand it no longer, and pulled her into the safety of his arms, holding her close against his chest.

"I see her!" Arabelle said suddenly. "Mama!"

Erik swung around, eyes searching for Christine's familiar, loving face.

And there she was, standing almost out of view for the crowds, speaking with a police man.

"Christine!" Erik cried, rushing forward. When he reached his wife, he set Arabelle down, and yanked Christine into a desperate embrace, as Arabelle wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. Both were happy to see her, though Arabelle still didn't know quite what was going on.

"Oh, Erik, it's awful!" Christine gasped, and now Erik realized there were tears in her eyes. "Jessica was a sweet girl. I didn't know her well, but she was so friendly."

"Christine I am just glad it was not you, my heart," Erik whispered, stroking her hair. "When I read about it, my first thought was - Oh Christine....."

"They're thinking of closing the opera house," Christine said, almost sounding horrified. "Temporarily of course, but it's so awful that it should come to this!" Her eyes turned to Arabelle, and she hugged her daughter tightly. "I am _so _glad you are both alright," she sighed.

"As are we, Christine," Erik smiled, kissing her soundly.

-

-

For a few days, there was a general panic about the murder, as no one could seem to figure out who had done the crime. Several parents kept their children home from school, but only when another murder popped up, this time _in _Bristol, did Erik put his foot down and insist that Arabelle not be allowed out of the house without them, not at all out fo the yard.

"I cannot protect you as well when there are so many about, dearest," Erik explained. "I do not want you to be hurt. You must be safe, my love." He hugged her tightly, and at her soft plea, went upstairs to play dolls with her.

Arabelle didn't seem to mind the confinement. She spent much of the time in her room, reading, playing with her dolls, or playing her violin. Erik was glad to see that she was adjusting well, and when there were no more murders that month, and none for half of the next, Erik warily allowed his precious daughter to return to school a few days before the Thomaston Opera House was set to open.

Arabelle was glad to be back in school, but she was worried. She knew her papa worried about her terribly, and she didn't want to make him worried. She knew he was always more nervous when he had to watch for her, so she decided not to put him in a stituation that would worry him. She'd walk on her own.

Barely halfway down the road, she heard a voice. Her papa.

"What are you _doing?!?"_

His voice was concerned and angry, and in a moment he was kneeling in front of her, holding her by her shoulders. He shook her slightly, eyes blazing.

"_Why _are you out here _alone?!? _Haven't your mother and I told you _not _to go anywhere alone? _Especially _with a murderer in the area!"

"I-I'm sorry, Papa," Arabelle murmured, realizing her idea was way off base. "I know you get worried when I'm with you, so I thought it might be best if I came home alone..."

Erik frowned.

"Yes, I worry about you, but that is what parents are _supposed _to do! Whatever gave you the insane notion to walk _alone, _dearest?!?"

For the first time, Arabelle looked truly frightened of Erik's temper. Horrified that he'd caused the nervousness in his daughter's eyes, he pulled her in close.

"Dear one, when I saw you, I thought for _certain _something had happened," he explained. "I am sorry if I frightened you, but you must _never _do this again. Not only were you going in the completely oposite direction of home, but do you know how I worried when you were not at the school? My first thought was that somehow, whoever it was that had killed that woman had _you, _now. Merely thinking of such a thing _hurt, _dear-heart. _Promise _me you'll never do this again?"

Slightly stunned by the level of her father's concern, Arabelle simply looked at him for a long moment. Worrying about her hurt him? Had it been his heart? She didn't know.

"I promise, Papa," she said quietly, looking down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I thought it would be good. That you'd be proud of me."

Erik shook his head, then pulled her in close again, and kissed her temple, then held her face gently in his hands.

"I _am _proud of you, Arabelle," he assured her. "I am proud of you because you are smart, resourceful, fearless. But you are my only child. I don't want you to be so reckless, dearest. Please never do something like this again."

Arabelle nodded against Erik's chest, her arms around his neck.

Erik smiled.

"Let's go home," he sighed, standing up, and taking her hand.

"Papa? You won't tell Mama, will you?"

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"You swear never to do this sort of thing a second time, love?" he asked her.

"Yes, Papa," Arabelle promised.

Erik nodded, smiling in relief. He would be able to hear her promise to never do anything reckless again, and still not be tired of it.

Christine returned not long after Erik and Arabelle. As they'd agreed, Erik told Christine nothing. Arabelle ended up begging Erik to come and play with her in her room, and he did.

Erik truly enjoyed spending time with Arabelle. He knew that there should have been consequence for what she'd done today, but she'd honestly thought she was doing a good thing. And she'd promised never to do it again. Erik was simply grateful that nothing had gone wrong.

Watching her now, as she sat by her dollhouse, caught in a shaft of mid-October sunlight as she played with her dolls, he felt a powerful surge of protectiveness for her. He felt even more determined than ever to protect her, and make certain _nothing _happened to her. He loved her so, and she was his treasure. He would _never _let her be hurt.

One day after school, Arabelle came to him with a bright smile, and two boys trailing after her.

"Papa, these are my friends, Cody and Philippe!" she intruduced.

Erik smiled at the boys, though some part of him instantly went into protective-father mode. His daughter was _already _meeting males.

_God, help me, she's not even six years old yet!_

"Cody Emmerson," the darker of the two smiled, holding out his hand. He was a good ten or eleven years old, but it was clear he was very polite, not at all the rude little hellion so many boys at his age were.

The other was younger, and obviously nervous over Erik's mask.

"I'm Philippe," he whispered. "Philippe... de Chagny."

Erik froze, his right eye twitching beneath the mask.

_I hate flashbacks...._

"It is very nice to meet you boys," he said quickly, taking Arabelle's hand. "But we must be going. Come on, dear-heart. Time to go home."

_And never come back to this school again!_

He'd been somewhat okay with there being Chagny's here, especially since he'd only known there was a girl, whom Arabelle quite fully despised. Now, however, the appearance of little Philippe, who looked so uncannily like his French relative, had more than likely raised Erik's bloodpressure to a whole new level of 'not good'.

When he'd said he'd protect Arabelle always, and from anything, he hadn't forseen a sort of remake of his own greatest embarrassement. He'd come to realize over the years, and with help from the woman herself, that he'd read Christine quite wrong under the opera. Looking back on it, it was _so, embarrassingly obvious, _he wondered how he'd read into her actions the way he had.

But, he'd said he would protect his daughter, and protect her he would.

Even if it meant his sanity.

How could she already have _boy _friends? How was that even fair to _him?!?_

_I'll be in the nuthouse by the time she's twelve!_

XxX  
Couldn't leave it all dark, and just hanging on the Jack the Ripper part. Wanted to, but I just couldn't do it. I swear these stories have minds of their own. You start out with one thing in mind, and it goes off without so much as a 'hey, I'm going' from that, and suddenly you can't tell where you lost control of what got typed.

Anyway, I hope everyone liked this chapter, and please review! Reviews make me a happy teenager.


	16. Birthdays

_This _chapter is part of why the story was just changed to T rating. I completely spaced. Cause I don't think Jack the Ripper is for kiddies, and neither is what comes up this chapter. Anywa, back to the story!

Birthdays  
XxX

Christine finished tying the bow and sighed in satisfaction. She stepped back to look at what she'd done, and smiled.

"Perfect," she chirped.

He would love it. He would be so happy with her. At the same time, though, it reminded her of the conversation last year that had brought so much pain into her Erik's eyes. She remembered that day with a strange mix of happiness and guilt.

_/flashback/_

_Christine sighed. Erik was at his desk, writing. She wrung her hands, nervous. This was not something Erik willingly spoke about with her. She'd tried several times to get him to tell her when his birthday was, but he refused to ever tell her about the date. It was the only thing he continued to hold in from her, and, though she feared incurring his anger, she was tired of it._

_Her husband deserved a birthday, dammit!_

_"Erik," she said carefully, stepping into the music room, and walking up to him. Gently, she rested her hand on his shoulder, and he gripped it, turning to smile up at her._

_"What is it, mon ange?" he asked gently, eyes glimmering lovingly._

_Christine took a breath. Even after six years, the power and depth of love that shone in his eyes could take her breath away, and make her resolve waver._

_But it was time this subject was explained, and talked through. She'd been trying for the past six years to get out of him when his birthday was, but he would never tell her. Well, hopefully tonight would change that._

_"I know we've talked several times about this," she began. "Or, at least, I have. Now, Erik, my love, I know you don't like to talk about this, but..."_

_An uneasy feeling began to grow in Erik's chest._

What is she talking about? Several times?

_None of the potential explanations he came up with were any good for him. In fact, they all entailed her taking Arabelle, and vanishing, leaving him alone to die - literally, as well as figuratively - of a broken heart; because knowing he couldn't have his girls would certainly kill him. _

_It would stop his heart and freeze the breath in his lungs._

_"..And I understand if you are upset with me for bringing this up again, but Erik, you don't have to hold it back. I know it is more than likely painful, but I want to help. Haven't I told you enough times?"_

Well, seems I was quite off base_, he thought, almost relieved. Still, though, this was supposedly a subject he didn't like..._

_"Please, Erik," Christine said gently, "tell me when your birthday is."_

_Erik tensed._

'He wants to know why he must wear the mask, then by God, he'll know!'

_A wave of mild nausea coursed through him, and he shut his eyes tightly, his hands shaking slightly._

_"Erik?"_

_Christine turned so that she was beside him, and could turn his face toward her with one hand, as she tenderly touched his arm with the other._

_"Erik, are you alright?" she asked, her voice growing worried._

_Erik nodded slowly, opening his eyes, and trying to smile at her._

_"Of course," he assured her._

_"Will you tell me, love?" Christine whispered, still with a hand gentle on his arm. "You deserve a birthday."_

_"The _last _birthday I had, my mother showed me my face!" Erik snapped, not looking at her. And though he sounded angry, Christine had learned to detect the hidden hurt in his voice. "Because I came to dinner without my mask on. What was I supposed to _do?!?" _he demanded, making a helpless gesture. "I was five years old, and it _hurt!_ The mask had been too small for a good _year, _Christine! What else could I have done?!?! It _hurt...._"_

_The anger melted against his vulnerability, and Christine wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest as she stood next to his chair._

_"Oh, Erik."_

_He let out a broken sob, and Christine was silently glad they'd let Arabelle spend the night at Jillianna's. It would have made matters even worse on Erik had their daughter seen him so upset._

_Somehow, the two ended up on the floor, Christine holding Erik in her arms, Erik curled in on himself, shaking._

_"Erik, it's alright," Christine soothed. "That was so long ago, my love. You deserve a _proper _birthday. Won't you tell me when it is? I promise you will not suffer this time."_

_Erik was silent for a moment, shaking in Christine's arms, clinging to her as she held him._

_"June 26th," he choked out, eyes shut tight against the memories that haunted him to that day. Christine's presence could heal him of the feelings that he was unworthy of love, that he was a predestined loner, but nothing could get rid of the hurt his mother's hatred had inflicted on him. _

_"The twenty sixth?!?" Christine gasped, "Oh, Erik, that was _two days ago! _Oh, we missed it! I'm so sorry, my love."_

_Erik shook his head, and pulled back, wiping at his tears, and taking a deep breath._

_"It is quite alright, Christine," he said gently. "Truth be told, beloved, I don't think I could have survived this conversation with my sanity intact had it happend _on _my actual birthday."_

_Erik stood, and Christine followed him, wrapping her arms around his thin chest. He was still shaking slightly from emotion, and Christine gently rubbed his back, humming softly._

_"You will learn to treasure your birthday, sweet Erik," she breathed, leaning up to kiss his lips softly._

_/end flashback/_

He would learn to love his birthday, if Christine had anything to say about it.

She had to admit, she'd never had much pity for Madeleine to begin with, but the final truth of her poor Erik's only birthday destroyed what little she had left for the woman.

Christine smiled, and went to look out the music room window. She could see Erik and Arabelle, playing about in the trees. She worried suddenly for Erik's health. Yes, he hadn't had an attack in more than four years, but that pneumonia had weakened him. Oh, not much, but Christine could see it. She could always see when Erik was not quite himself.

But she saw him look back at the house, and smile, raising a hand to wave, and Christine returned the gesture, smiling herself.

Oh, he would be so pleased with this gift.

She'd looked everywhere for it, deciding that he deserved a newer one. She'd finally found it, and had been so proud of herself for thinking of it.

And yet, as the days had passed, and it had sat, hidden in her night stand drawer, waiting for Erik's birthday, it had seemed incomplete. That was how it had come to hold a simple, but tender engraving on the back;

_Erik, my love, my life; Happy birthday. Yours forever, Christine._

She couldn't wait for him to see it. He would get it tonight. The date was Tuesday, June 26th, 1889. Tonight, Nadir would come over, and there would be a party, small as it would be. Christine had baked a cake and everything.

Erik would surely love it.

Provided Ayesha didn't try to lick the frosting off the cake... _again. _Christine had already fixed it once.

When another hour had passed, Arabelle, Erik, and Phantom all stumbled through the front door, the dog barking madly, the other two laughing brightly. Christine all but ran to greet them.

She wrapped her arms tightly around Erik's neck, and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips.

"Happy birthday, Erik, my love," she whispered again. Erik had lost count how many times she'd said those words today already.

A smile split his face, and he had to blink to dispell the gathering tears. How wonderful his life was now. It was closing in swiftly on seven years since Arabelle was born, and just behind that, ten years since Christine had agreed to be his wife.

A knock on the door brought Christine out of the room, and back in a moment later, Nadir close behind her.

"Happy birthday, my friend," the Persian smiled.

Erik grinned lightly, and took Christine's hand.

"You are wonderful, you know that? And it is so good to see _you, _Nadir. It's been a while."

Nadir laughed.

"Can't have been more than last week, Erik," he quipped. "Missing your conscience, or just getting senile in your old age?"

Erik's barking laughter filled the room.

"If _I _am senile, Nadir, my friend," he returned, smirking, "then what, I wonder, does that make _you?"_

"It makes you _both _a couple of jabbering old fools," Christine giggled, taking Erik's hand. "Come. The cake is ready."

When Christine presented Erik with the small, carefully wrapped box at dinner, he fought again to keep his eyes dry and his vision from swimming as he turned to smile up at her.

"Christine, I -"

"Open it, love," Chritsine said gently, placing a light, loving kiss on his temple.

Slowly, his hands shaking terribly, Erik untied the ribbon, and pulled away the paper, then the lid of the box. Inside there was a pocket watch, golden, a violin carved on the front.

This time, Erik's tears won out, and he turned, wrapping his arms tightly around Christine. He pulled back after a moment, and Christine looked up into his shining eyes.

"My love," Erik whispered, voice trembling. "I..... Oh, Christine......"

His 'thank you' was perhaps the quietest Christine had ever heard his beloved voice.

"I know your old one is getting used," she smiled. "Turn it over, Erik."

_"Erik, my love, my life; Happy birthday. Yours forever, Christine."_

Christine found herself once more crushed against her husband's chest, as he held her close, sobbing. How wonderful she was to give him such a gift.

Arabelle's little drawing garnered about the same reaction. Not quite so violent, as she was much smaller than Christine, and he was trying to keep some semblance of control, but still, he was grateful.

Nadir's gift, a bottle of fine wine, was met with a raised eyebrow, and a smirk. Oh, the things he could think of when inhibitions were forgotten, and emotions all that remained after a bottle.

Ah, he would have a wonderful night, when that bottle was opened. And Christine would love it, too.

-

-

She was still so beautiful. Seven years and a difficult pregnancy had not taken that away from her body. No, the rest of her was still as lovely as her face.

Slowly, he reached out for her, longing for her presence.

Christine came willingly to Erik's embrace, kissing him.

Her clothes were gone, her hesitations of old greeting them from the floor as she lay down beside him.

Erik was slow and gentle, as always. They had made love many times between Arabelle's birth, and now. Each time, Erik had been careful not to let her become pregnant. He would not risk her life again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered it as selfish, and unfair that he should take even this much of a risk, merely loving her, without letting her be filled with him. It was terribly selfish, and he almost hated himself for it. The only thing that kept him from it was the look of wonder on his dear Christine's face.

Tender hands pressed him against her, held him in place, as a soft 'I love you,' passed Christine's lips. Erik looked up from her collar bone to return the sentiment just as quietly, with equal reverence.

Tonight, he was bolder. Christine had seen to that with her tight, encouraging grip on him. How could he refuse her?

They were both out of breath - Erik almost dangerously so - but each was so happy.

Christine held Erik against her chest, stroking his hair.

Erik panted heavily, feeling terribly old as a wheeze slipped out.

"Christine," he breathed, feeling slightly lightheaded from lack of oxygen, "you are my life. My heart, my world."

Christine smiled slightly, and placed a finger against his lips, rolling so that he was beside her. She brushed her fingers over his eyelids lovingly.

"Sleep," she whispered. "Rest _bien-aime. Je vous aime, _Erik."

Erik was too exhausted to fight the softly spoken words, which had almost been sung they were so sweet and tender.

His eyes remained closed, and the darkness turned to dreams as Christine held him, slowly slipping into sleep herself.

_Happy birthday, my love, _she thought, consciousness fading.

XxX  
What you guys think? Aw? I had fun writing it, at least. Anyway, I hope you all liked it, and please review.


	17. Again

Again  
XxX

Erik sighed, and stretched, noticing already the heat that made his body leaden.

It was the end of August, the height of summer, and even so early in the morning, the heat was almost unbearable.

Slowly, he sat up, and glanced around the room, noting something that froze his blood.

Christine wasn't there.

But before his panic had time to take over, he heard the sounds of retching in the bathroom. Quickly, he stood and went to Christine's side, horrified that the heat had made her ill.

Erik knelt at her side, and pulled her into his arms.

"Christine?"

His voice trembled and his arms shook. How could she be ill? The last time was when.... _oh no..._

"Erik,' she gasped. "Erik, I -"

Christine turned to the toilet as quick as she could, and was sick again.

"_CHRISTINE!"_

Erik's eyes were filled with terror and concern. He kept his voice to a quiet hiss, though, so that Arabelle would not hear.

"I was..." Christine rasped, the vomiting making her voice hoarse and her throat a bit sore. "I was at.... the doctor's two days ago.. Erik, I'm -"

Erik didn't need to hear her finish the sentence to know.

It was his fault.

She was pregnant again.

Would she die, this time, as she nearly had with Arabelle?

Tears coursed down his face. It was all his fault. It had been selfish of him to ever risk making love, after Arabelle. He was happy with just his two girls, dammit! He didn't want another child if it meant losing Christine!

Especially not if this baby were to look like him...

"Oh, Christine," he breathed, holding her close.

"Erik," Christine whispered gently, her voice returning. "Erik, my love, hush. Oh, please, Erik, don't cry! Everything will be alright."

"No," he choked. "This can't be... You nearly died before! Oh, Christine..."

Christine moved so that she was holding Erik.

"I will be alright, Erik love," she assured him quietly. "Stop crying, now, Erik. I'll survive. I did before, didn't I?"

Erik nodded faintly, murmuring her name.

"Yes, I did," Christine continued. "And I will this time as well. Please, don't worry about me."

"How can I not?" Erik whispered, taking her face in his hands. "I love you so much, Christine. If I lost you, I honestly believe I would die."

"Oh, Erik," Christine sighed. She stood, and pulled him to his feet. "Come," she said gently. "I think we both need more sleep."

Erik shook his head.

"Arabelle will be awake soon," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Someone must look after her. And tell her."

Christine nodded, though she was terribly concerned for Erik. She hadn't seen him so upset since their conversation about his birthday over a year ago. It wasn't good for him to get so upset at his age, and with his heart - even in spite of the hawthorn medicine.

They were not downstairs long before Arabelle came into the room, looking still sleppy in her nightgown. It didn't matter that she wasn't dressed yet; it was Saturday, and no one was expected to come to the house that day.

The child noticed at once that something was wrong. Perhaps not wrong, necessarily, but not _right, _either. Something was _amiss._

"Papa? Mama?"

Erik took a deep breath, and sat in a chair, beckoning Arabelle to come to him. She sat on his lap and looked up at him in confusion.

"Papa, is something wrong?" she asked.

Erik closed his eyes, breathing deep again, and Christine gently touched his shoulder to give him strength.

"Perhaps not _wrong, _necessarily," he said quietly. "But this is very serious. Dearest, you've always wanted a baby brother or sister, yes?"

Arabelle nodded, her eyes going wide.

"Mama's having another, then?"

Erik looked at her for a moment, then gripped Christine's hand in return for the gentle squeeze she gave his shoulder.

"Yes," he replied. "But the last time Mama was pregnant, with you, she became very sick. It will most likely happen again. And when..... if, it does, you and I will have to take care of things around the house."

Erik's voice became quieter and began to shake.

"Mama may not make it, Arabelle," he continued. "If that, is the case, _oh God," _Erik breathed, closing his eyes, and taking a few breaths before he could continue. "If that is the case, dear-heart, you will have to help me take care of the baby."

Arabelle's head tilted slightly to one side, and she reached out, gently touching the tears on her father's face. Then she looked up into her mother's set face, and she wrapped her arms around Erik's neck, pressing her face into his shoulder.

In his fear for Christine, Erik clutched Arabelle tightly against him, and the tears came harder as he thought about Christine's possible fate.

-

-

A week later, and not much had changed. Arabelle was constantly in the same room as her parents, ready and waiting for when her papa called on her to help him.

Erik could barely think straight in Christine's presence. He was horribly worried for her, and always trying to make her more comfortable.

As the autumn set in, he would light the fire in the living room every day that Christine was there. He insisted she take off from work, and found a small contracting job for in the meantime. Christine had insisted he not, but Erik had refused. They would still need money, he reminded her.

"And I've lived apart from men too long," he sighed. "It's time I did something again."

"And risk getting yourself killed?" Christine retorted, her eyes sad. "What happens when you have an attack, or something falls? If you die, what shall we do?"

Erik smiled softly, and kissed her cheek.

"I'll be careful, Christine," he promised.

Christine hadn't liked the idea, but Erik had insisted, and she could not stop him.

Without him in the house, everything seemed to take forever. And each night, she dreaded the knock on the door, the other workers ariving with police and a stretcher, her husband hurt, or dead on it. Oh, the thought frightened her.

But she had Arabelle. The little girl had noticed her mother's worry, but seemed to think it was unnecessary. Arabelle had every faith that her father would be alright. He always was.

So she paid no mind that he was gone so much (he'd promised them both that once Christine had the baby, and was able to go back to the opera house in Thomaston, that he would stop working again. Truth be told, he didn't want to as it was, because Christine worried so much). She simply played in the living room until she was asked to help out.

"You're a big girl, now, my dear," Erik smiled as he knelt before her, pulling her into his arms. "And I believe you'll make a wonderful big sister."

Arabelle looked up with bright eyes at her father.

"Really, Papa?" she asked, beaming brightly.

Erik nodded.

"You're very responsible, dearest," he explained. "Older siblings must be responsible."

Arabelle smiled, and took her father's hand, tugging gently toward the living room.

"Papa, will you hear me play my violin?" she pleaded, her eyes shining. Since Erik had gone to work, it seemed Arabelle craved his attention more than ever when he was home.

"Arabelle, no," Christine said gently. "I'm sure Papa is tired. Let him go rest."

Erik smiled and shook his head.

"I'm quite alright, Christine," he returned, turning to look at Arabelle. "Have you learned a new song, then, dear-heart?"

Arabelle nodded eagerly, gently pulling Erik into the living room, Christine following.

It was a new song. The strains were sweet and haunting, and familiar to Erik, though he'd never taught it to her, and couldn't think how she'd learned it (nor why she would know a song about lovers; she was only six, after all); Scarborough Fair.

Arabelle played it well, at tempo, and sure. She'd clearly practiced it before today.

When the last notes had trembled away into silence, Erik clapped, and opened his arms for her to come to him and sit on his lap on the couch.

"That was lovely, _cher-coeur," _he smiled, kissing her cheek.

Erik pulled her into his arms, and stood up, swinging her around. But he couldn't hold her long. She had grown so much, she was already tall enough that her head reached the bottom of his chest, and his arms trembled slightly under her weight.

"My, you're getting big, dear one," he laughed, setting her on her feet. "I don't think I'll be able to do that much longer."

Arabelle shook her head.

"I don't mind, Papa," she assured him, smiling, and moving in to hug Erik. "Did you really like the song?"

Erik nodded.

"Of course, Arabelle," he replied, smiling proudly at her. "You are very talented, my dear. Very talented indeed."

Arabelle buried her face deeper into Erik's upper stomach.

-

-

Christine did not see any adverse effects until late in the pregnancy. Just like with Arabelle, she would suffer sudden fainting spells, that took a horrible toll on Erik's nerves. By her eigth month, he'd resigned from the construction job, and stayed home to be nearer to his precious wife.

But it seemed that this time, Christine would not have quite so much trouble.

She was round as a balloon, but somehow, Erik found her even more beautiful than ever; she was glowing again, with the excitement of bearing new life. He remembered she'd had that glow with Arabelle.

And just like that, the worry that this child would be like him resurfaced. It concerned him grately that another life might be cursed because of him.

But Christine had assured his fears each time he'd brought them up - which was considerably less than when Arabelle was still inside her mother.

"The child won't be deformed, my love," she told him gently, brushing her hand lovingly over his face. "And even if it is, we'll love them."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to knowing the baby's gender?" he smirked.

Christine pouted, then buried her face in Erik's neck.

"'m tired," she mumbled, snuggling closer to him for warmth.

Erik laughed quietly, smiling as he placed a soft kiss on her temple.

"Then sleep, _mon ange," _he whispered against her soft skin. "_Pieute, ange."_

With a deep breath, Christine was asleep, her side rising and falling evenly.

Too tired to feel the worry he usually felt - it was late, and he'd had quite a headache earlier that had completely drained him - Erik closed his eyes, and joined her.

-

-

Erik sighed, leaning back in his chair, and smiling over at Christine on the couch. Perhaps the new little one would be like Arabelle, with her shimmering yellow eyes, and curling black hair. Or would the baby be more like Christine herself, with loving blue eyes, and soft mahogany hair?

Erik didn't know. But the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't wait to hold another child of his in his arms.

And it seemed that that time would come soon. Lately, the baby had been kicking out harder and with both feet, rather than one, and Christine's date was nearing. Soon, very soon, she would give their family another son or daughter. How wonderful it would be.

And one day, it happened.

They were sitting around the living room in mid-March, Nadir visiting. Arabelle sat with Phantom on the floor. The dog had grown beautifully, and though he was two years old, the German Shepherd was still as loving and playful as when he was a puppy. Ayesha still would not go near him, and Erik could only assume she remembered their first encounter.

Everything was peaceful and perfect.

Christine sat forward sharply, and suddenly, and Erik was on instant alert.

"Christine?"

He was already out of his chair, one hand stretched toward her in concern.

Christine moved her hand from her lower abdomen, and her skirt was dark with liquid.

Erik very nearly passed out.

XxX  
HaHA!! Cliffhanger! And yeah, I know the doctor in the last story said she shouldn't have another child, but hey, you never know with luck. And don't worry. Nothing will happen to Erik, either, I promise. Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter. Review, Please!


	18. Baby

Baby  
XxX

Christine moved her hand from her lower abdomen, and her skirt was dark with liquid.

Erik very nearly passed out. He stumbled back, eyes widening.

_Is it blood? _he wondered, horrified.

Arabelle looked from each adult to the other, her mother on the couch, looking like she was in intense pain, her uncle Nadir who had gone incredibly pale, and her papa, who had begun to shake.

"Get her upstairs!" Erik barked suddenly, snapping to order at Nadir, and changing the entire atmosphere. The Persian nodded, understanding that he meant both females, and helped Christine from the room, calling for Arabelle to follow him.

Even before they were out of the room, Arabelle could hear her father telling the doctor that his wife was having a baby, and help was needed.

Erik set the phone down with trembling hands. The tightness in his chest bordered on actual pain, and he fumbled for the bottle of hawthorn tablets in his pocket. He was well aware of how close he was to a full-blown attack, and Erik knew now was not the time.

He pressed the medication into his mouth, swallowed, and stood, leaning against the end table by his chair for a moment, eyes closed, before turning and taking the stairs two at a time as fast as a fifty-seven-year-old man could.

He did not slow down until he was at Christine's side, holding her hand tightly, and breathing hard.

Christine's grip on his hand tightened exponentially as the pain of a contraction swept over her, and she gasped, eyes clenching shut.

Erik panicked. His heart was pounding, and he was shaking horribly.

Nadir, still pale from the shock, had realized what it was that stained Christine's dress, and was, if not much, calmer, and attempted to get Erik out of the room.

"You'll be more hindrance than help in this state, Erik," the Persian reasoned.

Erik rounded on his friend, shoving his hands roughly away.

"I'm _not _leaving her!" he screamed, voice hoarse with intensity and desperation.

"Erik."

Christine's voice was gentle and concerned, and her eyes were soft.

"Go, love," she whispered, "go before you hurt yourself. Please."

Erik shook his head.

"I won't let you go through this alone again," he hissed, face set and determined, though his eyes were filled with un-shed tears.

"Please, Erik -" Christine's words and expression were filled with worry "- your health..."

"I'm _fine," _Erik snapped. "_You're _the one who may die! Christine, I _can't _leave you! Believe me when I say, as painful as it is in here, I know I will fair worse if I am not with you. I had to be _drugged _when Arabelle was born! I - Oh, Christine!"

And he stroked back her hair, and kissed her lightly, lovingly.

"I will be here the entire time," he whispered into her hair, holding her carefully. "I will not abandon you now."

When the doctor came, Nadir led him up to the room, and, as Nadir and Christine had, insisted, more for Erik's sake than tradition, that he leave the room.

Erik protested, and several times shook off the well-meaning hands of his friend and the doctor, but in the end, allowed the Persian to understandingly escort him out of the room, Arabelle following closely.

Sitting in his chair, Erik was tenser than he'd ever been waiting for news of the unborn child that had become his Arabelle. The reason; this baby was not supposed to be. It might kill Christine.

The gentle strains of a violin reached his ears, soft, and soothing. Erik hadn't even realized Arabelle was still in the room, but there she was, standing next to him, and looking up at him in open concern, playing 'Wild Mountain Thyme'. Then she chimed in, with her obviously childish, but sweet little voice, humming the tune.

Erik had to smile. He knew she had only started to play because he was upset. Never would Arabelle go to her violin in a serious moment, unless it was to lessen tension.

After a while, the song faded, and Arabelle set the violin down, placing her delicate, long-fingered hands on the arm of her father's chair.

"Papa," she asked quietly, her eyes worried, "Are you going to be alright? Please don't have an attack, Papa."

Erik leaned forward, and lifted his daughter onto his lap. He felt the momentary strain of lifting her - especially in his left arm - but it passed as soon as it came, and he held her close, petting her hair.

"I won't, dear-heart," he assured her quietly. "I'm alright. Oh, please, Arabelle, don't start crying, dearest. Shh, now. Hush."

Arabelle sniffed, and rested her head against Erik's shoulder. She wasn't openly sobbing, just a quiet, worried cry. Tears Erik was sure would fade as soon she was reassured of everything.

And yet, it was another two hours before the doctor came down. Arabelle was curled on the Persian rug on the floor with Phantom, Nadir on the couch, while Erik paced the floor, tense and agitated again.

Nadir was the first to notice the doctor's entrance to the living room.

Erik, seeing his friend's attention on something, looked to see the man standing in the archway, looking grim, but satisfied.

"Mr. Destler, you have a son," he said quietly. "A son."

Something wasn't right.

"And Christine?" he asked, voice quiet and intense. "What of my wife?"

The doctor sighed and looked down, and for one horrible moment, Erik honestly thought his heart stopped beating.

"Weak," the doctor told him. "And exhausted. But she'll make it. The child, on the other hand..."

"May I go see my brother?"

Arabelle's voice was tiny, and hopeful, and the doctor looked at Erik worriedly.

"Is he alive?" Erik asked plainly.

The doctor nodded.

"You may see your brother, dearest."

Arabelle smiled, and hurried toward the stairs.

"I would not recomend letting one so sensitive as a small child see the infant," the doctor warned, frowning.

Erik's heart sank. There could be only one reason why the doctor would say that.

The baby looked like him.

"Oh, God," he rasped, taking the stairs at a run.

He burst into his and Christine's roon to see his wife cradling a bundle of blankets, Arabelle at her side.

"Christine," Erik whispered, approaching slowly.

Christine turned tired, smiling eyes to her husband.

"Come and see your son," she murmured, looking down at the blankets in her arms.

Erik came slowly forward, his heart in his throat.

He looked down at the child, and the sliver off face visible between the wrapping caused him to release a relieved breath.

It was the left half of the boy's face that made Erik wish he'd died years ago so that this very sort of thing would not happen.

One side of the little one's face was normal; soft and fair, his skin creamy-colored, like Christine's. The other half was stretched tight and thin over his cheekbones, and the veins were visible. The infant stared up at his father, a yellow eye in the perfect side of his face, and a sky-blue one on the skull like side.

Erik reached out, and touched the child. He had a nose, at least, and his eyes were set evenly. It was just the paleness, and tightness of the skin that was the problem.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered, looking up at her. She'd always said she wouldn't mind having a child that looked like him, but that was before it had actually happened. Would she turn both husband and son away, now?

"He's beautiful," she smiled, looking down at the little one in her arms. "He's like you, Erik."

Christine's eyes were shining, and Erik realized suddenly, that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for their boy. After all, it was only part of his face, and the baby's nose was entirely intact, if a bit small. And his skin was smooth, not as mottled looking as Erik's.

Hearing her love's shaky breathing, Christine reached up, and gently pulled the mask away from his face. She smiled for a moment, brushing her fingertips against his cheekbone. Then her eyes turned serious, as though she'd read his thoughts, and knew his concerns.

"He will _not _wear a mask, Erik," Christine said quietly, a firm edge to her voice.

Erik nodded slowly. Christine was right. But, if their son came to him later in life, asking for one, he would give it.

Anything to protect his children from the cruelty of others.

-

-

Everything had happend fast, far too fast for Erik's insecurities to register. He'd found himself accepting the whole event before he'd even really realized it had happened.

Arabelle had held her little brother, Erik's hands staying close in case she slipped in her hold. His dear daughter was captivated by her new brother.

Charles was almost as small as Arabelle had been, and his cry was quiet. Erik began to wonder if the little boy would be healthy in years to come, or if he would be sickly. Either way, he would always watch his son, but there was only one pair of eyes that could protect him away from home, at the school.

"It will be your responsibility, dearest," Erik said seriously, "to watch out for Charles. Some people may be cruel, so I look to you to protect him when your mother and I cannot. You are his sister, Arabelle. Love your little brother, dear-heart. Keep him safe, won't you?"

Arabelle nodded gravely, her eyes shifting from her father's back to Charles's face.

"Hello, Charles," she whispered, smiling at the baby. "I'm your elder sister, Arabelle. Will we be friends, Charles?"

She held out a finger in front of her little brother, and Charles wrapped one thin, fragile little hand around it. A great grin lit up Arabelle's face, and she bent her head to kiss Charles's forehead.

Erik smiled slightly, tears prickling his eyes. For one moment, he was jealous of his son. The boy had a mother, father, and sister who loved him unconditionally. Erik had had no one until Christine. For fifty years, Erik had had no one. Charles had everything from birth.

But Erik couldn't hate the boy. Just looking at him, Erik found himself drawn to his little son's eyes. They were beautiful, and Erik saw, in a moment of vision, his son, grown and incredibly handsome, a young woman on his arm, the two smiling as she stroked his deformed cheek, love in her eyes. Then he was looking at an infant Charles again, and he sighed, the smile on his face growing softer.

Christine reached out weakly for him, and Erik held her close, letting her lay her head on his chest as he stroked her hair.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing her curls. "I love you so very much, Christine."

Half asleep already, Christine snuggled against his chest, and wrapped an arm around him, murmuring softly, tiredly.

Erik chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms around Christine. Arabelle smiled up at him, Charles making a happy noise as he took the opportunity to grasp at his sister's dark hair. She squeaked in shock, and turned her head so that her hair was out of his tight little grip.

"That hurt, Charles," she reprimanded gently, a smile once more staring on her lips.

Arabelle yawned, causing Erik to look up at her. Beyond his daughter, out the window next to the fireplace, night had fallen, and there were stars visible above the trees. He sat up, and carefully took Charles from her tired arms.

"Go on to bed, Arabelle," he said gently, understandingly. "I'll be along in a moment."

Arabelle nodded, and wandered out of the room to her own. As he'd promised, Erik came to her only a few minutes later, sitting on the edge of her bed as he tucked the blankets in around her.

"Good night, dearest," he said gently, smiling fondly.

Arabelle snuggled into the blankets, and gently touched the hand Erik had laid on her chest.

"Good night, Papa," she replied sleepily. "I love you."

Erik smiled and bent to kiss her forehead.

"I love you, too, Arabelle," he whispered, tenderly cupping her cheek. "Sleep, now, dear-heart. It's late."

Arabelle sighed, closing her eyes, and turning on her side. She curled into a ball, as she always did in winter, and with a deep breath, slept.

Erik watched her for a long time, stroking her hair, or gently rubbing her chest through the blankets.

Arabelle was a miracle in and of herself. The birth of Charles had only solidified his beliefs of that fact. His precious daughter had loved her brother at first sight. She was a blessing.

He thanked God above that she was as healthy as she was, and he prayed Charles would be strong as well. His children - _two _now, when he'd thought for so long he'd never even have one, let alone the wife to give them to him - were his world, beside Christine. For them, he wanted to always be strong. For them, he wanted to be all his mother - indeed, all the world - never thought him capable of being.

And he would do it, if it killed him. Because he was not an animal, or a demon, or a monster. He was a father, and he loved his little ones with all his heart - dented, and beat up as it was from many years of abuse.

At the door to the hall, Erik looked back one last time at his sleeping daughter, then went back to his and Christine's room, the events of the day making him more than a little in need of sleep.

XxX  
See? Happy end to the whole situation. Yay!! I hope everyone liked this chapter. Review, please!


	19. Extents of Love

Note: I don't own 'Candle on the Water'. I love it, and it's one of my favorite songs, but I don't own it.

And guys, don't worry. I'd never kill off Charles. I don't think this story would let me. He wasn't originally part of my plan for this, but I looked back at what I had written one day, and there he was! So, if the story wants Charles in it, he will stay.

On to the story, now.

Back  
XxX

That night marked the turning point.

Arabelle sighed, blinking slowly as she woke, and stretched.

For one moment, she forgot the last week and a half. For one moment, she fully expected to hear little Charles, trying to be stealthy, sneak into her room to see her before their parents woke up.

Then she remembered, and the tears came again.

_Poor Charles. It's all my fault. Oh, little brother._

She got up, downcast, and dressed, walking to Charles's room to check on him, as she had every day since he'd gotten sick.

He was awfully pale, but was it just her imagination, or was the harsh red fever-flush across his face, a little less violent? Could he really be a bit better?

Slowly, not wanting to be proven wrong, Arabelle approached her little brother, and lay a gentle hand on his forehead.

She could have cried, screamed, danced; Charles's skin was cooler than he'd been before.

Relief washed over her, and she smiled. Really, truly smiled.

She hurried out of the room, and there was her mother, walking toward the stairs.

"Mama!" she called quietly, voice a wild whisper. "Mama!"

Christine turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. Arabelle was standing just outside the door to Charles's room, and the intensity in her daughter's voice made her worried.

What had happened now?

"Arabelle? What is it?"

Christine's voice was quiet, and worried. Had Charles gotten worse? Or was it all over?

A broad smile split Arabelle's face as she ran forward, and began tugging her mother toward her brother's room.

"Mama, I think Charles is getting better!" she explained, eyes shinning. "His fever is down!"

Christine's eyes went wide, and she went quickly to Charles's side, and gaged his fever for herself.

It was indeed a bit lower than it had been. Not by much, but the boy's temperature _was _less than it had been the previous night.

"Oh, _thank God," _Christine breathed. It wasn't much, she knew, but it most likely meant her son was on the mend.

"How is he?"

Both mother and daughter turned to the quiet voice to see Erik standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, panting quietly.

Christine went to him, and drew him toward the chair.

"Sit, love," she instructed gently, "rest a bit."

Erik smiled quietly at her concern.

"How is Charles?" he asked again.

"Feel his forehead, Papa," Arabelle grinned.

Erik reached out, and laughed in relief when he felt his son's face.

"He'll be alright," he smiled, turning to Christine and Arabelle.

That night, Arabelle sat in the living room. She was well aware that it was past her bedtime, but she needed to play her violin.

She thought of Charles, and the random notes changed to a melody, one she knew the words to by heart, but had only ever heard played. Her ears remembered the tones, and her fingers picked them out as she quietly sang along.

_"I'll be your candle on the water,  
my love for you will always burn.  
I know you're lost and drifting  
but the clouds are lifting.  
Don't give up, you have somewhere to turn._

_I'll be your candle on the water,  
'till every wave is warm and bright.  
My soul is there beside you,  
let this candle guide you.  
Soon you'll see a golden stream of light._

_A cold and friendless tide has found you,  
don't let the stormy darkness pull you down.  
I'll paint a ray of hope around you,  
circling in the air,  
lighted by a prayer._

_I'll be your candle on the water,  
this flame inside of me will grow.  
Keep holding on, you'll make it,  
here's my hand so take it.  
Look for me, reaching out to show,  
as sure as rivers flow,_

_I'll never let you go._

_I'll never let you go._

_I'll be your candle on the water..."_

"You _should _be asleep, you know."

Arabelle jumped, gasping as she turned around.

There was her papa, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking stern, despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Arabelle replied. "But I couldn't sleep, so I came down here to play. I didn't mean to wake you."

Erik smiled slightly.

"You didn't, dear-heart," he assured her. "Now, come back to bed, Arabelle. It's late, and you need your rest."

"Yes, Papa," Arabelle whispered, walking to his side.

Erik lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"That was a lovely song, dearest," he told her.

Arabelle smiled.

"It reminded me of Charles," she sighed. "Papa, I hope he won't take long to recover. I'm beginning to miss the little tricks he used to pull."

Erik laughed quietly.

"To be honest, Arabelle," he agreed, "so do I."

Arabelle smiled again, though there was a bit of sadness to it. She knew her papa, and he hadn't just thrown his arm around her shoulders at a whim. He usually did, but this was different. She also knew Erik had his pride. Her father would _never _ask his twelve-year-old daughter for help. He was a brave, independent man, she knew.

She said nothing. She knew the truth, and from the quiet, almost inaudible sigh, knew that he knew she understood. Perhaps it made him feel shame, to accept her quiet help, but she didn't care. If her papa needed someone, she would _always _be there.

* * *

"Charles, you have to take this," Arabelle reminded her little brother. "The medicine will help you get better."

Charles frowned.

"But it tastes awful," the boy argued, tightly shutting his mouth.

Arabelle fixed him with a firm glance.

"Charles," she warned, her eyes glinting, an edge to her voice. "Do you _want_ to get worse? You may be starting to recover, dear brother, but you are still ill. Charles, you're worrying Mama and Papa. Me, too. Please?"

By the end of her little speech, the hard undercurrent had left Arabelle's voice, and she was back to gentle pleading.

Charles looked at his older sister, a bit of guilt creeping in. He was worrying her and their parents? He didn't want to upset them.

Sighing, he made a brave show of bracing himself, and opening his mouth to accept the syrup.

Charles shuddered as the medicine made its way down his throat. The taste was horrid, but Arabelle, Erik, and Christine, as well as Doctor Mason, had all assured him that it would help him to feel better.

"There now," Arabelle smiled, setting the bottle and spoon back on the night stand, and gently pressing Charles back down against the pillows. She tucked the blankets up around him warmly, and rested her hand lightly on his chest, gently rubbing it through the blankets. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked, her eyes soft.

Charles dramatically clutched his throat, pulling a face.

"That was _horrid!" _he replied, shaking his head vigorously, as though that would help get rid of the taste.

Arabelle tried not to laugh at her brother's melodramatics. She knew that to him, it was completely serious, and appropriate to be disgusted with medicine. But still, it made her smile to see him looking so silly.

But she took the high road, and instead of lightly teasing her sweet little brother, she kissed his nose, and stood.

"Get some rest, Charles," she instructed gently. "Sleep well, little brother."

From the doorway, Arabelle turned back, and smiled as she watched Charles snuggle deeper into the blankets.

_I love you, Charles, _she thought. _Get well soon, dear brother._

* * *

Cody walked Arabelle home again. She enjoyed every moment, whether the older boy saw her as anything more than a little girl, or not. He amazed her, really. Smart, tall, darkly handsome.

He reminded her of some of her papa's stories.

And Arabelle _loved _Erik's stories.

Phantom greeted her, barking wildly, his tail wagging. The dog was starting to get older, now, but he was still Arabelle's wonderful, loyal friend.

She ruffled his fur, and patted his head as she walked toward the house.

Erik met her at the door, and wrapped his arms around her, smiling.

"Hello, Papa," Arabelle grinned, her eyes shinning.

Her father gently held her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead.

"Did you have a nice day, dear-heart?" he asked, leading her into the living room.

Arabelle nodded.

"Cody walked me home, again," she told him. "He said he didn't like seeing me lonely."

Erik smiled, though inside, he groaned.

_Dear God, she's only twelve! I won't give my twelve year old to a young man! Not a snowball's chance in Hell of that. _

"He's a very nice boy, to see you safely home, dearest."

Arabelle smiled and leaned into Erik's side.

"How's Charles?" she asked softly, looking up sideways at her papa.

Erik indicated the living room.

Charles was sitting on the couch with Christine, dressed warmly, and wrapped in a thick quilt. The boy smiled when he saw his sister standing there, and Arabelle beamed, and went to his side, wrapping her arms around him.

"Feeling better, little brother?"

Charles nodded, and cuddled close to her. Arabelle smiled softly, and tightened her hold on him.

* * *

"Take care," Erik said gently, though his eyes were firm.

Arabelle nodded her agreement.

"I'll watch out for him, Papa," she promised.

"Both of you keep warm," Christine insisted, tying Charles's scarf around his neck.

Arabelle smiled.

"We will, Mama," she replied, pulling up the hood of her cloak, and taking Charles's hand. "Let's go, little brother."

Charles nodded, and followed her off down the road.

At the schoolhouse, the siblings found their friends standing in the shelter of a large pine tree.

Arabelle recognized Jillianna from behind easily. Her cloak was thick green cotton twill, with white rabbit fur trim (Arabelle's own was a deep, dark red, with black dyed fox fur, a gift from Erik last Christmas), and her hair was tied in a braid, held together with green ribbon.

Beside her stood Addison, his thick canvas coat edged with snow at the bottom.

Jason stood there beside his sister, and he saw Arabelle and Charles first.

Jillianna turned at her brother's incessant tugging on the edge of her cloak, and smiled at her friend and Arabelle's brother.

"It'th nithe to thee you back, Charleth," she smiled. "And hello, Arabelle."

Arabelle smiled, and Charles was about to respond, when little Anna, a friendly young girl with flame-red curls and a soft blue cloak popped up and took his hand, pulling him toward where she and her brother, Tom, played.

Anna had taken a liking to Charles. Once, during recess, Charles had been playing by himself, and the little girl had wandered over. She had seen his face, and her eyes had grown wide. At once, she was looking at him closely, telling him quietly that the little blue lines on his face were pretty, and reminded her of her mother's paints.

They'd been friends ever since. Tom had been a bit more wary of Charles than his younger sister, but Anna had ignored her brother from the start, and soon all three were good friends.

Arabelle watched her little brother running around with the other two. He still had a bad cough - the doctor had said it would linger for a while, but was ultimately harmless - but he was, for the most part, better.

Relief and happiness filled her.

After three weeks, all was finally back to normal.

XxX  
Chapter has ended on a high note. Hope everyone's happy. Review please!


	20. Always There

Always There  
XxX

"Arabelle!"

Arabelle turned, and there was Jillianna, walking toward her, smiling, Addison close behind her. In the years that had passed since they were all small children, Addison had grown up, and was a better person than he had been, and to anyone with eyes, it was plain to see that he and Jillianna were very much taken with each other.

"Hello, Jill, Addison," Arabelle smiled. Her mind was elsewhere, but for the moment, she could be happy to see her friends.

"Arabelle," Addison offered, voice friendly in a way that Arabelle never would have believed five years ago, "will you come to my house? Jillianna and a few others will be there as well."

Arabelle shook her head, wishing she could say yes.

"I cannot," she sighed. "Charles is ill, and Papa's had an attack. Perhpas another day, when both are feeling better."

Addison nodded.

"Another day, then," he agreed, turing to Jilliann. "Come."

Arabelle saw her friend blush as Addison offered his arm to her, and sighed, slightly envious of her.

At the gate to the schoolyard, Arabelle felt the impact of her brother's and father's conditions, and how alone she felt. Always, Erik had walked her home, and later, she'd had little Charles with her. Arabelle didn't like being completely alone. And she was, now.

She barely got a foot out of the yard, when another familiar voice called out to her.

Turning, she saw Cody coming toward her, smiling fondly, a friendly, brotherly glint in his dark eyes.

Quickly, she turned her head to the side, trying to stop blushing. Cody had grown into such a fine young man, seventeen, and Arabelle found herself with a crush on the kindly older boy.

"Hello, Cody," she whispered, willing the heat to leave her face (when she blushed, it was much like her father; her cheeks went red, and pink colored her ears, just as it did Erik's).

"You're alone," Cody noticed, a hint of concern in his voice. "Where are your father and brother?"

"Home," Arabelle replied. "Charles is sick, and Papa had an attack. I must get home. Someone has to watch them until Mama comes home."

Cody nodded in understanding.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" he asked. "You shouldn't have to walk home alone."

Arabelle fought to keep her excitement from showing. She knew quite fully that Cody was basically too old for her, and he would probably want someone his own age, but that didn't mean he wasn't attractive. To have him walk her home, even just as a friend, made her so happy.

All the way back to her house, Cody talked to her politely; about the day, what they'd learned in school, and Arabelle told him what had happened to Charles just before the weekend.

"The doctor said he should be alright," she was saying. "So long as he stays in bed, and gets enough rest. And Papa won't be out of bed for another week, at least..."

Cody touched her shoulder comfortingly. He remembered years ago, when she'd first mentioned her father's weak heart. He'd worried about the little girl. She was clearly very dependent on Erik Destler.

At the gate to Arabelle's yard, Cody smiled, and bowed his fairwell, Arabelle watching him, wide-eyed and blushing.

Then he was gone from sight, and she turned toward her house. The light-headed fancy she'd felt walking with Cody drained away, and she was left with the worry and fear for her father and brother again.

Arabelle hung her cloak on a hook near the door, and tiptoed up the stairs. She knew both males were likely asleep, and she had no desire to wake either of them.

She went to her papa first. He was awake, staring at the ceiling, looking terribly bored besides weak and drained.

"Papa?" Arabelle called quietly, stepping into the room. It was dimly lit, the curtains drawn.

Erik turned toward her and smiled faintly. He extended a shaking, skeletal hand for her to come to him, and sit in the chair next to the bed. She did so, crossing the room to his side, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I missed you today, Papa," she said quietly.

Erik weakly pet her hair.

"As I missed you, dear-heart," he sighed. "How was school?"

Arabelle shrugged.

"A bit lonely, but no worse than before Charles was born," she replied.

Erik smiled again.

"You should go check on him," he suggested. "Christine said the poor boy was coughing awfully this morning."

Arabelle nodded, concern darkening her amber eyes. With a gentle kiss to Erik's cheek, she stood and left the room, going to see to her little brother.

Charles was sleeping. His chest rose and fell with his rattling breaths, and Arabelle felt her heart clench. Over the weekend, she'd looked back on the incident that led to all this, and could only figure that it was partially her fault. What the boys had said was worse than what anyone else had ever said to Charles, and it had infuriated her. Her brother had never hurt them. He did not deserve their cruel words.

She'd lost her temper finally, and hauled off and slapped their leader, a boy about her own age.

That was the mistake. She knew it. Every other time someone teased Charles, she would quietly, and gently assure Charles that the boys were wrong, that he was _not _ugly, and that he was a wonderfully special boy.

Arabelle could easily assume, then, that Charles, not hearing her gentle reassurance, had been unsure of why she'd struck out, and somehow deciding it was because she _didn't _actually want him, ran.

"Oh, Charles," she sighed, changing the compress on his burning forehead.

Charles stirred, coughing in his sleep, and Arabelle cringed, tears welling in her eyes.

This was her fault. All her fault. If she had just reassured Charles like always, instead of losing her head, her dear little brother never would have tried to run away. He wouldn't have fallen through the ice and caught pneumonia, and Erik wouldn't have had an attack trying to rescue him.

The path events easily could have taken was laid out plainly before her all of a sudden, and Arabelle's sobbs came harder.

Phantom trotted into the room, then, and laid his head on the bed next to Arabelle's knee, and she fell on the floor, clutching the dog, and burying her face in his fur. Phantom moved his head to lick at her face, lapping up her tears, and Arabelle clung to her dog tighter.

A weak whimper caught her ears, and she sat back on the bed, just as Charles's eyes slowly flickered open.

"Arabelle?" he whispered, blinking blearily up at his sister. There was no question of her love and concern now, they'd had their conversation on the subject Saturday night, when Arabelle had first discovered her fault in the whole mess.

"Yes, Charles," she said gently, soothing back his hair. "I'm here, little brother. I'm right here."

Charles smiled faintly, then broke into a harsh coughing fit that had him nearly choking.

Arabelle helped him sit up, and rubbed his back firmly in circles, as she'd seen her mother do for her father when he'd been ill.

The boy was left gasping and shaking afterward, his face and thin little chest (Charles had inherited Erik's thinness, which, no matter how much the child ate, would not leave) covered in sweat.

Charles's lungs felt like they were going to burst. The ache was deep, and it made tears prick the backs of his young, missmatched eyes. His small chest and narrow shoulders heaved as he panted, wheezing awfully.

For a long time, Arabelle just held her little brother, rubbing his back, and softly, so softly, she sang.

_"__Sleep my __love,__ and peace attend thee,  
All through the night  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night;  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night. _

_Angels are watching, e'er around thee,  
All through the night  
Midnight slumber close surround thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping  
I my loving vigil keeping,  
All through the night_

_While the moon her watch is keeping,  
All through the night  
While the weary world is sleeping,  
All through the night  
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,  
Visions of delight revealing  
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,  
All through the night."_

There was a drowsy little smile on Charles's now sleeping face, and the only sound in the room was his labored breathing.

Sighing, Arabelle stood, and went downstairs to make some of the herbal tea the doctor had showed her and her mother how to make. It would help Charles's cough, he'd said. Arabelle didn't care what part of the boy's illness it was for, just so long as it was helping her little brother.

From the kitchen window, she could see the small marker next to the dead rosebush. Ayesha was buried there. The cat had died in the early spring, and Erik had been heartbroken.

But he'd gotten over it. Slowly, and sometimes he still looked sadly at the little grave, but Erik had known she couldn't live forever.

Shaking her head, Arabelle returned to prepairing Charles's medicine tea, hoping her mother would be home soon. Christine always knew what to do, and how to keep everyone together.

She was upstairs, sitting next to a still sleeping Charles when she heard the front door open, and a breath of relief escaped her.

"Mama."

Christine looked up from hanging her cloak on a peg, and gazed at Arabelle, hurrying to the foot of the stairs as the girl came down them.

"How are they?" Christine asked worriedly.

"Papa said he was feeling better," Arabelle replied. "Charles is asleep. I gave him his medicine, Mama, but he's still coughing so badly."

Christine pulled her daughter into her arms.

"Courage, darling," she whispered. "They'll be alright."

Arabelle nodded, but she wasn't completely convinced, especially when it came to Charles.

-

-

For a whole week, Charles was caught in the grip of his sickness. Erik slowly started to get better, to the point where he could handle the walk from his and Christine's room to Charles's (provided he could sit for a while, and did not have walk back any time soon), but Charles continued to cough and wheeze, shivering cold one moment, and burning the next.

Erik and Christine both were worried. Neither had seen their daughter looking quite so pale and worried. It was starting to become a real possibility that she might get sick as well.

They couldn't let that happen.

Arabelle spent as much time as she could with her little brother. Right from the start, she'd comandeered control of his care, and continued to do so, watchful as a hawk.

Many times, she would sit with him while he slept, fitful and wheezing, his breath rattling in his lungs.

She was worried about his fever, and changed it often.

"Arabelle," Charles gasped.

Arabelle turned to her little brother, and smiled gently.

"What is it, Charles?" she asked, laying her hand lightly on his small chest.

"I.... c-can.... can't b-breathe...."

Charles's eyes were wide, and his grip on her arm was weak.

Arabelle sat him up, cradling his much smaller body against her's (Charles was smart like his sister, but it seemed he had not yet inherited the impressive height of his father), and rearanging the pillows before settling her brother back against them gingerly.

She hushed him gently, rubbing his heaving chest, and pushing back his sweat-soaked hair.

_Oh, little brother, _Arabelle thought sadly. _I'm so sorry this happened to you._

When Christine checked on her children that night, she found Arabelle not in her room, but in Charles's, sleeping the chair, her chin on her chest, her deep, even breathing almost drowned out by Charles's raspy breaths.

There was a candle burning, so the mother gently blew it out, taking an extra blanket and draping it over Arabelle. Then, with a quiet sigh, and silent prayer, she left the room.

-

-

The next week was hectic. Erik began to regain his strength, but little Charles seemed to get worse. To the point where the doctor was called back.

"Give him this," Dr. Mason said proffessionally. "It is a purgative. Vomiting will cause an intake of breath that will precipitate a coughing fit that should be strong enough to bring up some of the congestion and phlegm. But be warned. No more than two drops in a tea, or other drink, as it is a strong herb."

"It will help him, though?" Erik asked, leaning heavily on Christine. He'd insisted on being part of this conversation, and so, Christine had helped him down to the living room.

The doctor nodded, and Erik closed his eyes for a moment.

After the doctor left, they used the purgative. Christine had insisted Erik go back to their room to rest, and Arabelle was left to help her.

With shaking hands, the twelve-year-old held onto the pail while her mother gave Charles the cup of drugged tea.

The purgative took effect fast. With a choking groan, Charles vomited into the pail. He heaved several more times, but nothing came up, and he began to cough violently.

Christine rubbed her son's back, and held a handkerchief in front of his mouth to catch whatever came up from his lungs, then took a second cloth, and wiped away the little bit of vomit at the corner of his mouth, humming softly.

Charles had such a hard time catching his breath after the fit passed, that it set off another, and by the end, the boy was barely conscious. Through it all, Christine held her son.

"Mama," Arabelle said gently, moving to sit next to her brother on the other side of the bed. "You can go back to Papa. I'll take care of Charles."

Christine smiled tiredly, and leaned forward to kiss Arabelle's cheek.

"Not too late, Arabelle," she warned.

Arabelle nodded, and took her little brother's hand as her mother left the room.

"I'm here for you, Charles," Christine heard her daughter say. "I love you, little brother. I'll always protect you..."

Tears clouded Arabelle's eyes, and she gently brushed a strand of hair off Charles's deformed cheek. The hair, and his face was slick with sweat, and the cloth was hot. Arabelle diligently dipped it in the pitcher of water on the night stand, and replaced it on his forehead.

"I'm sorry this happened, Charles," she said quietly. "Please get better soon, little brother."

Charles coughed weakly in his sleep.

Arabelle reached for the bottle of salve, and rubbed the herbal vapor mixture into his small chest.

"I won't leave you, Charles," she whispered. "I promise."

XxX  
Hey, guys, please don't kill me. Like I said, no one dies. And things get lots better next chapter, I promise!

*hides*

Erik: You kill my son, I'll come after you, too!

Erik, he's not going to die, I promise!

Review, please, everybody!


	21. Back

Note: I don't own 'Candle on the Water'. I love it, and it's one of my favorite songs, but I don't own it.

And guys, don't worry. I'd never kill off Charles. I don't think this story would let me. He wasn't originally part of my plan for this, but I looked back at what I had written one day, and there he was! So, if the story wants Charles in it, he will stay.

On to the story, now.

Back  
XxX

That night marked the turning point.

Arabelle sighed, blinking slowly as she woke, and stretched.

For one moment, she forgot the last week and a half. For one moment, she fully expected to hear little Charles, trying to be stealthy, sneak into her room to see her before their parents woke up.

Then she remembered, and the tears came again.

_Poor Charles. It's all my fault. Oh, little brother._

She got up, downcast, and dressed, walking to Charles's room to check on him, as she had every day since he'd gotten sick.

He was awfully pale, but was it just her imagination, or was the harsh red fever-flush across his face, a little less violent? Could he really be a bit better?

Slowly, not wanting to be proven wrong, Arabelle approached her little brother, and lay a gentle hand on his forehead.

She could have cried, screamed, danced; Charles's skin was cooler than he'd been before.

Relief washed over her, and she smiled. Really, truly smiled.

She hurried out of the room, and there was her mother, walking toward the stairs.

"Mama!" she called quietly, voice a wild whisper. "Mama!"

Christine turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. Arabelle was standing just outside the door to Charles's room, and the intensity in her daughter's voice made her worried.

What had happened now?

"Arabelle? What is it?"

Christine's voice was quiet, and worried. Had Charles gotten worse? Or was it all over?

A broad smile split Arabelle's face as she ran forward, and began tugging her mother toward her brother's room.

"Mama, I think Charles is getting better!" she explained, eyes shinning. "His fever is down!"

Christine's eyes went wide, and she went quickly to Charles's side, and gaged his fever for herself.

It was indeed a bit lower than it had been. Not by much, but the boy's temperature _was _less than it had been the previous night.

"Oh, _thank God," _Christine breathed. It wasn't much, she knew, but it most likely meant her son was on the mend.

"How is he?"

Both mother and daughter turned to the quiet voice to see Erik standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, panting quietly.

Christine went to him, and drew him toward the chair.

"Sit, love," she instructed gently, "rest a bit."

Erik smiled quietly at her concern.

"How is Charles?" he asked again.

"Feel his forehead, Papa," Arabelle grinned.

Erik reached out, and laughed in relief when he felt his son's face.

"He'll be alright," he smiled, turning to Christine and Arabelle.

-

-

That night, Arabelle sat in the living room. She was well aware that it was past her bedtime, but she needed to play her violin.

She thought of Charles, and the random notes changed to a melody, one she knew the words to by heart, but had only ever heard played. Her ears remembered the tones, and her fingers picked them out as she quietly sang along.

_"I'll be your candle on the water,  
my love for you will always burn.  
I know you're lost and drifting  
but the clouds are lifting.  
Don't give up, you have somewhere to turn._

_I'll be your candle on the water,  
'till every wave is warm and bright.  
My soul is there beside you,  
let this candle guide you.  
Soon you'll see a golden stream of light._

_A cold and friendless tide has found you,  
don't let the stormy darkness pull you down.  
I'll paint a ray of hope around you,  
circling in the air,  
lighted by a prayer._

_I'll be your candle on the water,  
this flame inside of me will grow.  
Keep holding on, you'll make it,  
here's my hand so take it.  
Look for me, reaching out to show,  
as sure as rivers flow,_

_I'll never let you go._

_I'll never let you go._

_I'll be your candle on the water...."_

"You _should _be asleep, you know."

Arabelle jumped, gasping as she turned around.

There was her papa, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking stern, despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Arabelle replied. "But I couldn't sleep, so I came down here to play. I didn't mean to wake you."

Erik smiled slightly.

"You didn't, dear-heart," he assured her. "Now, come back to bed, Arabelle. It's late, and you need your rest."

"Yes, Papa," Arabelle whispered, walking to his side.

Erik lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"That was a lovely song, dearest," he told her.

Arabelle smiled.

"It reminded me of Charles," she sighed. "Papa, I hope he won't take long to recover. I'm beginning to miss the little tricks he used to pull."

Erik laughed quietly.

"To be honest, Arabelle," he agreed, "so do I."

Arabelle smiled again, though there was a bit of sadness to it. She knew her papa, and he hadn't just thrown his arm around her shoulders at a whim. He usually did, but this was different. She also knew Erik had his pride. Her father would _never _ask his twelve-year-old daughter for help. He was a brave, independent man, she knew.

She said nothing. She knew the truth, and from the quiet, almost inaudible sigh, knew that he knew she understood. Perhaps it made him feel shame, to accept her quiet help, but she didn't care. If her papa needed someone, she would _always _be there.

-

-

"Charles, you have to take this," Arabelle reminded her little brother. "The medicine will help you get better."

Charles frowned.

"But it tastes awful," the boy argued, tightly shutting his mouth.

Arabelle fixed him with a firm glance.

"Charles," she warned, her eyes glinting, an edge to her voice. "Do you _want_ to get worse? You may be starting to recover, dear brother, but you are still ill. Charles, you're worrying Mama and Papa. Me, too. Please?"

By the end of her little speech, the hard undercurrent had left Arabelle's voice, and she was back to gentle pleading.

Charles looked at his older sister, a bit of guilt creeping in. He was worrying her and their parents? He didn't want to upset them.

Sighing, he made a brave show of bracing himself, and opening his mouth to accept the syrup.

Charles shuddered as the medicine made its way down his throat. The taste was horrid, but Arabelle, Erik, and Christine, as well as Doctor Mason, had all assured him that it would help him to feel better.

"There now," Arabelle smiled, setting the bottle and spoon back on the night stand, and gently pressing Charles back down against the pillows. She tucked the blankets up around him warmly, and rested her hand lightly on his chest, gently rubbing it through the blankets. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked, her eyes soft.

Charles dramatically clutched his throat, pulling a face.

"That was _horrid!" _he replied, shaking his head vigorously, as though that would help get rid of the taste.

Arabelle tried not to laugh at her brother's melodramatics. She knew that to him, it was completely serious, and appropriate to be disgusted with medicine. But still, it made her smile to see him looking so silly.

But she took the high road, and instead of lightly teasing her sweet little brother, she kissed his nose, and stood.

"Get some rest, Charles," she instructed gently. "Sleep well, little brother."

From the doorway, Arabelle turned back, and smiled as she watched Charles snuggle deeper into the blankets.

_I love you, Charles, _she thought. _Get well soon, dear brother._

_-_

_-_

Cody walked Arabelle home again. She enjoyed every moment, whether the older boy saw her as anything more than a little girl, or not. He amazed her, really. Smart, tall, darkly handsome.

He reminded her of some of her papa's stories.

And Arabelle _loved _Erik's stories.

Phantom greeted her, barking wildly, his tail wagging. The dog was starting to get older, now, but he was still Arabelle's wonderful, loyal friend.

She ruffled his fur, and patted his head as she walked toward the house.

Erik met her at the door, and wrapped his arms around her, smiling.

"Hello, Papa," Arabelle grinned, her eyes shinning.

Her father gently held her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead.

"Did you have a nice day, dear-heart?" he asked, leading her into the living room.

Arabelle nodded.

"Cody walked me home, again," she told him. "He said he didn't like seeing me lonely."

Erik smiled, though inside, he groaned.

_Dear God, she's only twelve! I won't give my twelve year old to a young man! Not a snowball's chance in Hell of that. _

"He's a very nice boy, to see you safely home, dearest."

Arabelle smiled and leaned into Erik's side.

"How's Charles?" she asked softly, looking up sideways at her papa.

Erik indicated the living room.

Charles was sitting on the couch with Christine, dressed warmly, and wrapped in a thick quilt. The boy smiled when he saw his sister standing there, and Arabelle beamed, and went to his side, wrapping her arms around him.

"Feeling better, little brother?"

Charles nodded, and cuddled close to her. Arabelle smiled softly, and tightened her hold on him.

-

-

"Take care," Erik said gently, though his eyes were firm.

Arabelle nodded her agreement.

"I'll watch out for him, Papa," she promised.

"Both of you keep warm," Christine insisted, tying Charles's scarf around his neck.

Arabelle smiled.

"We will, Mama," she replied, pulling up the hood of her cloak, and taking Charles's hand. "Let's go, little brother."

Charles nodded, and followed her off down the road.

At the schoolhouse, the siblings found their friends standing in the shelter of a large pine tree.

Arabelle recognized Jillianna from behind easily. Her cloak was thick green cotton twill, with white rabbit fur trim (Arabelle's own was a deep, dark red, with black dyed fox fur, a gift from Erik last Christmas), and her hair was tied in a braid, held together with green ribbon.

Beside her stood Addison, his thick canvas coat edged with snow at the bottom.

Jason stood there beside his sister, and he saw Arabelle and Charles first.

Jillianna turned at her brother's incessant tugging on the edge of her cloak, and smiled at her friend and Arabelle's brother.

"It'th nithe to thee you back, Charleth," she smiled. "And hello, Arabelle."

Arabelle smiled, and Charles was about to respond, when little Anna, a friendly young girl with flame-red curls and a soft blue cloak popped up and took his hand, pulling him toward where she and her brother, Tom, played.

Anna had taken a liking to Charles. Once, during recess, Charles had been playing by himself, and the little girl had wandered over. She had seen his face, and her eyes had grown wide. At once, she was looking at him closely, telling him quietly that the little blue lines on his face were pretty, and reminded her of her mother's paints.

They'd been friends ever since. Tom had been a bit more wary of Charles than his younger sister, but Anna had ignored her brother from the start, and soon all three were good friends.

Arabelle watched her little brother running around with the other two. He still had a bad cough - the doctor had said it would linger for a while, but was ultimately harmless - but he was, for the most part, better.

Relief and happiness filled her.

After three weeks, all was finally back to normal.

XxX  
Chapter has ended on a high note. Hope everyone's happy. Review please!


	22. My Own

As a heads up; I changed Zarifa's name to Johara, which is Islamic for 'jewel', which I think is prettier.

My Own

XxX

Nadir sighed, leaning back in his chair. Twelve years he had lived in this house. Twelve years, he had watched his friend raise a family. He loved his job with the police force, sorting out evidence, and making sense of things, but sometimes, the Persian envied Erik.

And yet, he could not begrudge his dear friend the sweet little ones he'd finally been gifted with. Arabelle was truly quite the character. Untamable, but obedient. She was a bit unconventional, true, but Erik never stifled her. In his opinion, so long as his daughter knew right from wrong, and always did what was right, what did it matter if she were not reserved in public, walking sedately at her parents' sides, silent?

And then there was Charles. Charles was a bit on the mischevious side, but he was really a sweet young boy. He was much like his sister, though far more reserved than she was.

"Allah thank you," the Persian whispered. Raising a family was the spark Nadir had prayed would come along to turn Erik into what he should have been all along.

For twelve years, things had run so smoothly. And while there were still those who looked at Erik and his mask in suspicion, he and his little family were well-adjusted.

Arabelle had her friends, and she was always laughing. There was Jillianna Morgan, Cody Emmerson, Addison Meriam, and – and to Nadir, this was the funniest, most ironic friend Arabelle had made – Philippe Chagny, a close relative of the viscount. Erik had looked like he would have a heart attack right on the spot when Arabelle had mentioned the boy. Of course, in time, he'd calmed, knowing in his heart that her loyalty was to him, her papa, first.

But Erik was still very wary around the Chagny boy, understandably so, considering his history.

Charles had his friends, too. A sweet little girl, Anna, and her brother, Thomas. They were both good children, and each were very kind to Charles.

Nadir let out a breath. A walk, he decided, was a good idea. And yet, he had barely made it out his door when he stopped.

On the doorstep was a little girl, very small, very young. She was poorly dressed in what looked like a thin shift.

Nadir gently lifted the child into his arms, and went straight into his house. The poor thing would catch her death lying on the stone stair in front of his home in the middle of winter.

Once he had her on the couch in his parlor, a fire going, he looked at her. Attached with tape to the nightdress was a note that made Nadir's blood boil.

_To whomever finds her – _

_Name the child what you wish. It won't last long, God knows. _

_Or put it out of its misery yourself. _

There was no signature – not that, after the first sentence, he had expected to find one – and he wondered what would prompt someone to abandon such a pretty little girl. Her skin was creamy pale, her hair a lovely red. She couldn't have been more than two or three years old, she was so small and looked so young.

And yet, there was a thinness to her, a bit of a shadow that suggested all was not right with the little one. Perhaps it was illness that prompted her parents to give her up. Which, especially considering the way the note had been worded, was inexcusable. Sickly or not, no parent should abandon their child.

Very gently, he pushed a stray strand of vibrant red hair out of the girl's pale face, tucking it gently behind her ear.

At the light touch, the child started, and her eyes snapped wide to terrified pools of peridot green. She tried to scramble away, a frightened cry escaping her thin lips.

Then she went slack, lolling back against the couch, eyes rolling up as her body twitched and shuddered.

Nadir was shocked, concerned at once for the small girl jerking and trembling uncontrollably on his couch.

Afraid that getting closer might frighten her more, he simply moved back a step, still kneeling so he wouldn't tower over the child.

After a moment, the seizure passed, and the girl curled into a shivering, shaking little ball.

"Are you alright?" Nadir asked quietly. The girl regarded him with an innocent, childish fear, the fear of a strange person when a loved one was expected in their place. "I won't hurt you," he assured, smiling in hopes of calming her down. There were tears on her delicate face, and she sniffled.

"Wh-who awe you?" the girl whispered, still wide-eyed.

"My name is Nadir," the Persian replied gently. "What is your name, little one?"

"Papa call me 'Giwl'," the child offered.

Nadir frowned.

"Then may I call you 'Johara'?" he suggested.

"Wha's.... 'Jo...hawa' mean?" the girl asked.

"It means 'jewel'," Nadir explained.

"Why you wanna call me that?"

"You have lovely eyes, little one," the once-daroga enlightened. "Like gemstones."

"Okay," _Johara _agreed, smiling, and nodding.

"It is settled then," Nadir said. "If you wish to live with me, I can arrange it."

"You wan' me to stay wif you?" Johara asked, looking at Nadir in disbelief.

"Of course, young one. If you wish."

"Papa said, I not wight, though. I sick. He don' like me, I tink."

"_I _like you," Nadir encouraged. "You don't worry about him. _I _will be your papa. You'd love it here, Johara."

"Weally?! You'we goin' t' let me stay?"

Nadir smiled, and gently pushed back her hair again.

"Of course."

Johara laughed, green eyes smiling, and flung her arms around Nadir's neck.

Nadir returned her enthusiastic embrace, then set her back on the couch.

"Johara," he began seriously, "I need you to tell me; do you remember that little spell you had when you woke up?"

Johara frowned for a moment, pale face scrunching, then nodded.

"Think, little one. Have you ever had one before?"

Johara shrugged.

"I don' wemembew," she answered, still frowning in thought.

"Alright, Johara, dear," Nadir decided, gently taking the redhead's hand. "Come up and lie down, and I'll see about getting a doctor to see what's wrong, alright?"

Johara nodded, and raised her arms tiredly for Nadir to carry her. The Persian obliged, and held her close.

"How old are you, Johara?"

"Um... thwee, I tink," she murmured, voice muffled as she rested her head on Nadir's shoulder, closing her eyes.

By the time Nadir lay her on the bed in the second bedroom – thank Allah his home had two bedrooms – the little girl was sleeping soundly.

Johara's red hair scattered naturally over the pillow, and she curled up with a small noise.

He wanted to adopt her. He would start about that as soon as the doctor determined what was wrong with the child.

-

-

"Epilepsy," the doctor stated, turning to Nadir. "Are you the father?"

"I intend to be, soon," Nadir replied. He led the doctor away from little Johara in the bed, leaning back against pillows. "Someone left her in front of my house. They abandoned her, according to the note I found with her. I wouldn't be surprised if it is because of the seizures. Doctor, tell me; will this continue?"

"It usually does," the doctor replied. "Though, some do outgrow it. She recovered quickly for one her age, so her chances are much better. I would suggest this." He held out a bottle of pills, pressing them into Nadir's hand. "It will decrease the frequency and severity of the seizures."

"Thank you," Nadir smiled, shaking the doctors hand.

When the doctor left, Nadir returned to Johara's side.

"Get some rest, little one," he said gently.

Johara nodded quietly, and Nadir sat at her side until she fell asleep. Once her eyes were closed and her breathing had grown deep and even, he left the room, looking at the label on the bottle.

_Side affects; increased susceptibility to illness, decreased heart rate, weakness, mood swings._

Nadir frowned. The medication was rather invasive for one so little.

He remembered Erik's diagnosis of Reza, and how he had treated Nadir with gypsy medicine when nothing else would have saved him from lung-fulls of mucus. Perhaps there was something he might know that could help her without doing so much damage to the little dear.

He would see his friend first thing tomorrow.

-

-

Erik looked up at the knock on the door. He set the book aside, promising Arabelle he would be back soon. Though the ten-year-old could easily read 'Beauty and the Beast' on her own, it was a tradition between the two for Erik to read the story to her.

Nadir stood at the door, a tiny, red-haired little girl in his arms. Erik raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I found her," Nadir explained, stepping inside when Erik moved to let him by. "She was left at my door, for some reason. Though this made it quite clear her parents did not want her."

Nadir handed Erik the note he'd found on Johara's dress, and when he'd finished reading it, Erik's hands clenched to fists, and the paper ripped in half in his grip.

"I need your help with her, though," Nadir said quickly, trying to get his friend away from his anger before it caused trouble. "The doctor said she has epilepsy, and while I don't doubt him, the medication he prescribed just seemed too invasive for such a small body."

"Of course," Erik said stiffly, and Nadir could see that, though he'd managed to get Erik out of a potential tirade for the moment, he would be ranting about the cruelty shown to little Johara later. "Let me look at her. In both our histories, I think it safe to say we've learned doctors are not always right."

There was bitterness that Nadir did not miss in Erik's voice when he spoke of doctors, and he wondered, not for the first time, why it was there.

"Be careful," the Persian warned. "She startles easily, and violently. Just seeing me yesterday morning caused a seizure."

Something dark flashed in Erik's eyes as he led Nadir into the living room, but he still put on his mask, turning to the girl as soon as Nadir set her on the couch.

Christine wandered into the room, Charles just behind her, and drew up when she saw Nadir, and the small, unconscious child.

"Erik? Nadir? What on _earth _is going on?" she asked. "Where did you find her?"

"She was left at my house," Nadir replied, not taking his eyes of the small girl on the couch.

"It's alright, Christine," Erik assured her. "She's not hurt, just asleep."

For a few minutes, Erik checked the little girl over, using what knowledge he had from his days with the gypsies to figure out if the doctor was right.

He was.

"He wasn't wrong, I'm afraid," Erik sighed. "A tough blow for one so young as her. How old is she, Nadir?"

"About three, she said."

Erik nodded.

"What is her name?"

"She consented to Johara," Nadir replied.

Arabelle watched from her place in her father's chair, head tilted to one side in curiosity.

Charles quietly sidled over to her.

"Who's she?" he asked her.

"Uncle Nadir found her," Arabelle replied. "He named her Johara. And don't ask _me _what it means, little brother. I haven't the slightest clue."

"I intend to adopt her," the Persian said simply, looking down at Johara, and brushing back her hair.

"Judging from what I've seen," Erik said softly, not looking Nadir in the eyes, "you'll make a wonderful father, daroga."

The room was silent for a moment, then Nadir looked at Erik and smiled.

"Give her mugwort tea three times a day," Erik told him. "One in the morning, at noon, and when she goes to bed. It won't be as invasive as the pills you mentioned, but there is _one _important factor, Nadir. It may cause her to have some slight trouble breathing. And the last time I used it - back with... in my childhood - it caused a woman nausea, though she'd needed a rather high dose..."

"Thank you, Erik," Nadir smiled, taking Johara in his arms. "Thank you very much."

"Take care, daroga. Of yourself _and _that little girl."

Nadir nodded, and turned off to go home.

-

-

As soon as he'd returned home, he set Johara, who'd woken up on the way over, on the couch, and given her some toys to play with, Nadir went straight to the study, and wrote the adoption agency.

By the afternoon of the next day, he had the papers.

He answered all the questions on the papers, and signed his name and innitials wherever it was necessary.

Finally, when the ink dried on the parchments, Nadir set down his pen, and sighed leaning back in his chair. True, he was a bit old to be taking care of such a young child, but she needed someone, and her eyes reminded him of Reza's. She was sure to be a bright, intelligent child.

That night, after sending out the papers, he tucked her in, and gently kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, Johara," he whispered quietly.

_My own..._

XxX  
End of chapter! Hope everyone liked this. Review, please!


	23. Defender

Defender  
XxX

Arabelle laughed, and shared a look with her father. Today was _their _day. They were out in Farmington - a special treat of a visit - walking down the streets, talking about nothing, and just being good friends, besides father and daughter.

Her laughter was infectious, and Erik chuckled brightly, smiling beneath the mask.

The fourteen-year-old's bouncy attitude had lightened his life for all of hers, and he was grateful. Charles, too, was a wonderful blessing, but there would always be something special about his Arabelle. She was his answered prayer - quite literally - and she was his daughter.

"Papa, this is so _wonderful," _Arabelle sighed, absently fingering the locket she'd been given for her last birthday. The cameo from her fourth Christmas still hung around her neck, but it shared its place now with that silver heart locket, a red rose carved and enameled on the front.

Inside the locket was a picture of her family. All four of them; Charles, herself, and their parents. Erik was wearing his mask in the little picture, but the proud smile on his face was easy to see.

Sighing happily, she slid her hand into Erik's. They were very much alike, despite the size difference. Arabelle's fingers were long and slender, delicate-looking, though Erik knew they were not. Both had light, light skin that was soft to the touch.

Erik still found he liked being able to compare aspects of himself to something beautiful, and have that comparison work out. For so long, he'd had nothing to compare himself to but ugly things. Now, he had a wife and two children! And while he was reminded of that every second of every day, sometimes it hit him harder, just how wonderful his life had become since he'd met Christine all those long years ago.

At his side, Arabelle started to hum quietly, smiling all the while. Her yellow eyes glimmered in the mid-day sun.

She didn't see the boys stop and point, didn't hear them whisper about the strange man in the mask. She didn't even register one boy saying 'let's see what he's hiding', - neither father nor daughter did - until Erik felt the mask ripped from his face.

The boys who pulled it off knocked into him, and before Arabelle could react, her papa was on his knees, surrounded by jeering youths who would surely kill him if they weren't stopped.

Fury rose in her eyes, and they became hard, glinting like steel where barely a moment ago, they'd been soft as gold.

Erik saw a shadow of The Phantom in her, in her wrathful attack on the boys.

She descended upon them with more fiery hatred than he'd ever felt himself.

"_Demons!" _Arabelle screeched, yanking one of the boys away so hard that when she let go, he stumbled into the brick wall of a store-front. "Back off, you sorry _rat bastards! I'll kill you all for this!"_

Erik heard the sickening crack, and he was sure one of the boys was leaving with a broken nose.

Only one decided to fight back. And, to Erik's horror, he _would _have to be the largest of the group, perhaps a year older than Arabelle.

He wanted to help her. He _had _to. But he didn't think he could do much right now. He'd hit the ground hard, and his whole lower right side, hip to foot, was throbbing, and he doubted he could put enough weight on it to drive off the larger boy.

Erik could feel the threads of steel beginning to weave themselves around his chest, and he shut his eyes tightly, praying.

_Not here, not now! Oh, please, _God, _not now! She'll _really _kill them, then._

The boy smirked at Arabelle.

"Think you can make me run, do you?" he smirked. "Why're you protecting a _monster_ like that, anyway?"

Before he could throw another insult at her, Arabelle landed a hard blow to his stomach.

In a split second, both were on the ground, Arabelle pounding the boy into the sidewalk.

"Take it _back!" _she shrieked, eyes and whole heart on fire. "Take it back you son of a _bitch! I'll knock you senseless! TAKE IT BACK!"_

Erik saw the policemen first, but before he could call out, two of the men were dragging Arabelle and the boy away from each other.

The boy stood there, acting cool and aloof, but Arabelle was being forcibly restrained. She was making no move to fight anymore, but Erik could see it in her eyes. If allowed to, she would make good her threat to thrash him to oblivion and back.

Then someone was tying the strings of his mask behind his head and helping him up. Another officer.

"You've a very brave girl, monsieur," the officer said, too quietly for Erik to recognize the voice.

"What in the name of God is going on here," the one holding Arabelle demanded.

"I honestly do not know, officer," the boy replied, voice smooth and controlled. Arabelle snarled. "I was merely walking down the street when this girl and the monster there -"

The guard tightened his grip on Arabelle when she thrashed.

"Don't you call him that!" she roared. "I'll beat you like you did him! You think you're brave, but I had you _down! You'll get yours, ASS!"_

"That's enough!" the policeman snapped.

"He's lying," Arabelle growled, voice still strained as her breath came heavily. "A group of boys, him, too, attacked Papa! He called him a _monster!"_

Eventually, the situation was resolved, and it was discovered that the officer holding Erik up was actually Nadir, surprisingly enough.

"You look a sight, my friend," he said softly. "Are you both alright?"

Arabelle nodded.

"Just... get ... me home," Erik hissed through clenched teeth, limping as Nadir and Arabelle helped him off down the road.

"And don't you come back!" the boy yelled after them, now that the police were all gone.

Arabelle turned back toward him, but a sharp squeeze on her shoulder from Erik told her not to dare go back after the boy again.

-

-

As soon as they'd gotten a carriage to take them back to Bristol, Nadir checked the extent of Erik's injuries. They were all minor, the worst a bad scrape on his right hip that would bruise, and be sensitive for days, and his hands were a bit raw, but there was little else besides bruises.

"You'll be fine," Nadir said, mostly to assure the teenaged girl in the brougham. "You're lucky. If this were Persia, you'd likely have been killed."

"I know," Erik replied, wincing. "Remeber, I was there."

_I can never forget, _Nadir thought, his mind going to the locket around his neck. It had once belonged to Rookheeya, and inside there was a small painting of himself, her, and an infant Reza, back when they were happy, and the future had seemed bright.

The Persian kept the necklace with him at all times. It was endlessly special to him, the last thing he had to remind him of his wife and son, both now in Allah's care for many, many years.

Johara had an equally special place; last year for Christmas, Erik had somehow managed to sneak Nadir's pocketwatch - _again - _without his notice, and had given it to him, a small, incredibly life-like painting of him and the child attached to the inside of the cover.

Arabelle was crying quietly now, furious, concerned, and hurt. How could the day have gone so wrong? They'd been having such a nice time. She thanked God above that Nadir had been there to help her Papa.

Her uncle was also why she wasn't going to be spending the night in jail for brawling. He'd assured the Farmington officers, who he'd been helping with a case, that she was not always like this, that it was the first time she'd ever been in a fight, and it was not in her nature to do such a thing. In short, there had to be substantial provocation before she would strike.

At the scene, she'd been angry, her concern for Erik overpowered by the instinct to fight back and to protect. Now, with no more outside danger to her papa, she felt the fear of what could have happened take over her.

Her papa could have been seriously hurt, he could have had an attack. It frightened her to no end, the potential outcomes that raced through her mind.

Erik glanced at her, and felt a deep-set guilt. She was clearly upset. He hated to see her that way.

He tried to calm his breathing - the pain of the scrapes and the slight tightness in his chest made it difficult - knowing its uneven rhythm would only further upset his darling Arabelle. Gently, hoping she would understand his meaning as 'I'm all right, don't you worry', he wrapped an arm around her.

Arabelle looked up at him for a moment with tear-filled eyes, then pressed her head into his shoulder. With a faint smile, Erik pressed his cheek against the curls on her head, sighing.

-

-

Erik was still limping slightly when Arabelle helped him up the porch steps. Nadir would have come with them, but he'd had to get back to help the Farmington police with the case they'd been working on.

Christine let out a cry the moment she saw her husband and daughter.

Quickly, but with all the gentleness she had in her, she helped him into the bathroom to tend to the scrapes and bruises.

"Promise me you'll never go there again," she whispered once she'd finished cleaning him up. Her head was pressed against his chest, and she could hear his steady, thumping heartbeat, with that worrisome skip between the beats.

Erik sighed, and kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin up to look at him.

"I won't," he swore, gently kissing her lips. "I'm alright, Christine. I know I've worried you with this, but it's alright. Arabelle's fine, and so am I."

He held her close again, and this time, it was Christine's turn to sigh quietly.

"And I thank God that you are," she murmured. "I could have lost you."

In the privacy of his mind, Erik thought she was being a bit dramatic, but he could see what she meant. Things could have taken a far worse turn (the bit of tightness he'd felt in his chest earlier could have turned to actual pain - a full on attack - and would have, he was sure, if it weren't for the hawthorn medicine. He still took it weekly, and on the obscure occasion that an attack _did _come), and he was very glad that they did not.

It hurt to walk, still, because of the scrape, and the way his pants rubbed at it even through the light bandage Christine had wrapped around it. He thanked God for his wife's sweet tenderness.

In the living room, Arabelle was pacing and furious still. Erik sighed.

"Dear-heart," he called softly, catching her attention.

Arabelle turned, and, seeing her papa's open arms, went right to him.

"Those boys were wrong," she snarled into his chest. "They were wrong."

Erik rubbed her back comfortingly (he could feel the wetness of tears on his shirt).

"It's alright, Arabelle," he assured her gently. "I'm quite alright. I want you to promise me one thing."

Erik held her out from him, and looked into her eyes.

"_Never _do such a thing again," he said sternly. "If it weren't for Nadir, you'd be in the Farmington jail right now. Don't argue, dearest, but I don't want you to fight like that ever again. Good as your intentions were, you could have been hurt."

"But Papa, I'm _fourteen _now," Arabelle countered. "I know it isn't right to start fights, but they _hurt you! _How could I let them get away with that?"

Her arms tightened around his shoulders, and Erik thought he heard a stifled sob slip out of her.

"I know, dear-heart, I know. Shhhh."

His voice was gentle, and it calmed her greatly, though she would never forgive what had been done. Her papa did not deserve such treatment. He'd never done anything to those boys, there was no call for them to hurt him.

The anger still pulsed in her veins, as it did for several days. She could hardly look at Erik without remembering the boys and how cruel they'd been. She'd thought that such things would never happen to her papa. She knew the had, of course, but still, she'd been naive enough to think that having a family who loved him would protect him.

It was the first time she'd ever truly _hated _someone, and it coursed through her for days before she started to put it to rest.

After all, she would never see those boys again. They lived in another town, nowhere near her and her papa.

They would not dare to touch him ever again if they did meet.

-

-

Erik sighed. He was humbled, and flattered, even, by Arabelle's readiness to defend him, but he couldn't ever let her do such a thing again.

Not that it was one thing for a boy to fight, no. He had no double standards for his children. Charles and Arabelle had the same expectations, altered only to fit eachs' personality.

It still lingered in his mind that the boy was older than her, larger. He could have hurt her, and Erik had been completely powerless to help her.

And yet, Arabelle had beaten the tar out of him before the officers had arrived.

_There's one good thing to this, I suppose, _Erik thought as he watched her practice her violin. _I never have to worry about her being accosted or abused as she grows. God help the man who tries to force himself on her._

-

-

"It was wrong, Jill," Arabelle fumed.

Jillianna listened from her bed (she'd had another episode of chest pain, and, though it was minor, her parents had insisted she rest for a few days to be certain she was alright). Arabelle needed to vent, and the blond girl was always willing to listen to her first, and best, friend.

"They could have seriously hurt him," the black-haired girl continued, pacing. "They almost did. How _dare _that.... ooh! Call my papa 'monster', will he? I tell you, Jill, he's _damned lucky _he doesn't live in Bristol."

"You promithed Mithter Dethtler _not _to fight again," Jillianna reminded her younger friend, a bit worried at the vehemence and anger still blazing in Arabelle's eyes from an incident that had happened almost two weeks ago.

"I know what I promised," Arabelle grumbled. "It _scarred, _Jill. As if Papa needs any more scars to remind him what the world thinks of him."

It was true. The soft, delicate skin that covered Erik's face was the same consistency over the rest of his thin body. The scrapes on his hip and leg had scarred, and it had brought all the fury rushing back into Arabelle's being. She _hated _what the boys had done to her father.

_No one _else _will ever touch him, _she vowed in her silent mind, her eyes flashing. _Not as long as I can prevent it._

She would always protect her papa.

She would be his defender till the end of time, if need be.

And no one, _no one, _would ever tear the mask from his face and push him around again.

_Ever. _

XxX  
Hah, yep, Erik's possessive streak got passed along to, it seems, eh? I hope you all liked this chapter, anyway. Review, please!


	24. I Loved Her First

As a heads up, this chapter might be just a tad sad (maybe nostalgic is the right word? I don't know).

On with the story, now.

Erik: Wait - _SAD?!? _You do anything to my family, I'll get PhantomTwilighter.

No, Erik. No one gets hurt. This one's about growing up.

I Loved Her First  
XxX

She hadn't meant for it to happen, and looking back on it, he hadn't meant for it either, surely.

The age difference would surely give one of their parents' a fit (with the exception of Erik, who would likely have a heart attack were he to find out).

And yet, Arabelle had enjoyed it.

_Immensely._

It was the first time she'd been kissed on her lips, the first time she'd been kissed with actual _passion. _Love, certainly, had been there in the cheek pecks of her family, but this was entirely different.

It had startled them both so that they'd both sprung away, Arabelle pressed up against a tree, her heart hammering behind her ribcage, one hand hovering barely an inch in front of her tingling lips.

One word, and one word only escaped her in a breathy, shocked rush.

_"Cody."_

If her papa ever discovered this, he'd kill the boy. Not because of race, but because he'd dared to come near Erik's precious only daughter. She'd known for several years of his intense protectiveness, and the fifteen-year-old suddenly felt guilt.

Not at realizing that she loved Cody Emmerson, but that loving him might hurt her papa. She loved her father dearly, but Cody, well....

"Arabelle, I - I'm sorr-"

"Don't," she whispered, still breathless. "Don't apologize."

Her eyes were wide as saucers, and though they were predominantly shocked, a small sliver of desire shown through.

"If I hurt you, I -"

"You didn't."

"Arabelle," Cody sighed. "God, this is happening, isn't it?"

Arabelle nodded, silent.

Cody stepped forward and tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him, then held her shoulders.

"If I ever hurt you, I am sorry," he whispered. "I do care for you -"

"I know," Arabelle replied quietly. "I'm a good five years younger than you. You may find someone your own age."

"That is not what I was going to say, 'belle," he told her softly, using the nickname he'd heard her father starting to use (At fifteen, Arabelle was growing into a beautiful young woman, no longer the child she'd once been). "I do not want to come between you and your parents. They love you so much, Arabelle. And you know, better than I, even, that it would hurt Mr. Destler."

Arabelle smiled very slightly, still unsure of what was happening around her.

"Papa knows he will one day have to let me go," she said, turning to look up at the sky. "Do not think of running away simply to keep peace in my home. Yes, Papa would be hurt, but he would understand, on some level, though he will deny it till death. He wants Charles and I to be happy, Cody, and if _you _make me happy, he will let matters be."

"I'm twenty," he replied, with significantly less conviction. He _did _care so deeply for her.

And he wondered when she'd become a woman.

Wasn't it just yesterday, after all, that he'd walked her home to school while her brother and father were ill?

Sighing again, he took her in his arms, pressing her close against him.

"I do believe I love you, Arabelle Destler," he murmured. "But I want you to be at peace with your family. Wait a year or two, when you are older, and then, _then_ matters will be up us and us alone."

Arabelle nodded, and both acted on instinct, a light pecking touch of lips before Cody turned and left the schoolyard (He had graduated the year before, and had only returned to give Mrs. Ingrahm some papers on a subject she was teaching the high school aged students.

-

-

Erik saw it all. He saw his daughter, an innocent child, run to where she saw her long time friend (and crush, he admitted with an internal growl) standing by a tree.

He saw them talk and Arabelle laughed, and then they were kissing.

Every bone in his body screamed at him to throttle the very life out of the impudent pup.

How _dare _he - or _any _male, for that matter, however young or old - kiss _his _darling little Arabelle?!

How _dare he!_

He'd had the instinct to come and check that Arabelle was alright, and now he was conflicted between being glad that he'd come, and a heart ache brought by the truth that was so real, and deep, that it was almost physically painful.

From his vantage point, he couldn't see Arabelle's face, but he heard Cody's words.

_"I do believe I love you, Arabelle Destler."_

It was a young woman, fearless, and sure of herself that Cody walked away from, not the light-hearted child who'd run to see him.

He wanted to cry. How could she be growing up so fast? Hadn't he just held her in his arms for the very first time that morning? Hadn't he gazed into her round, infant face just a few seconds ago?

Who was this proud, tall young woman who looked so assured and confident, standing barely a stone's throw from where he stood? Surely not his little Arabelle!

Wounded by the cruel speed of time, and the change of his precious daughter to a young woman - he knew it would come, but he didn't want it to so soon - Erik turned and walked away, back home to Christine.

-

-

"Tommy said he saw you kissing Cody," Charles said as they walked home, breaking Arabelle out of her thoughts.

Her cheeks were bright red, her ears a rather bright shade of pink.

Stunned into silence, she could only gape at her little brother for a long moment.

"I _knew _it!" Charles grinned. "Are you going to get married?!"

Arabelle about choked on her tongue.

"_Charles!" _she gasped. "Of course not! Just because two people kiss, that does not mean they are going to marry! Papa and Mama kiss us all the time, and I used to kiss you, before you decided girls were gross. Are you and I married?"

"Papa and Mama are," the boy countered.

"They kiss on the lips, little brother," she explained in a high-pitched voice. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "And don't say that Cody and I will marry because we kissed on the lips. It takes a very long time for people to decide if they will marry. I have _no _intentions of marriage."

_Yet, _she added silently, thinking of how gently Cody had held her, and how well she fit in his arms.

-

-

"I _saw _them, Christine," Erik sighed.

Christine gently sat on her knees on the bed, and pulled Erik back so that his head was in her lap.

"She will always love you first, Erik," she said gently. "Who is her father? Not Cody. Who taught her to play the violin? Not Cody. Who taught her to love beyond a face? Not Cody. Who taught her compassion for all things? _You _taught her everything, Erik. She is who she is because of you. Her love for you will never fade. You are her father."

Erik reached up, and gently cupped Christine's face.

"You always could make everything right," he whispered, smiling faintly. "All the same -" And the sadness was back in his eyes "- I will miss her."

Christine pushed him up, and turned him around so that she could hold him, and she gently kissed his face, all over, as she had the night Arabelle was conceived.

"I know, Erik my love," she assured him, pressing his head to her chest, and stroking his thin hair. It was mostly grey now, but it was still Erik's hair, still a part of her beloved husband, now sixty-six years old, but just as wonderful as the day they'd met.

Christine's reassurance made everything better - it always did. Arabelle could fall in love with whomever she wished, but he would always have a place in her heart.

-

-

Cody began to walk Arabelle and Charles home more and more often.

Erik noticed it, and despite the fact that he knew it would come one day, he hated to see it. She was his _only daughter. _His first-born. His _angel. _How could she love another so soon and so suddenly?

As the days turned to weeks, it became more and more obvious that there were feelings between Arabelle and Cody. It just couldn't be ignored anymore.

"You love him," Erik said softly, looking at the fire.

Arabelle froze, her eyes wide.

"I won't say I am not upset," he told her. "Not that you chose Cody, mind you, dear-heart, but there it is. However, I am not mad."

Erik turned to her, and gently took her face in his hands.

"You're growing up, I suppose," he sighed. "I've seen it, I know. But I never thought it would happen so fast. Oh, dear-heart. When did you become a woman?"

Arabelle smiled slightly, and wrapped her arms around Erik's neck.

"Oh, Papa," she whispered. "I love you so much. You will always be my father, Papa. And I'm still your daughter, Papa."

Erik held her tightly, pressing her against his chest almost desperately.

When they pulled back, Erik smiled faintly, and attempted a joke.

"At least it isn't Philippe de Chagny," he teased. "If it were, I'd have to kill him."

"Papa," Arabelle sighed, laughing quietly.

Erik watched her, sadness mixed with pride in his eyes. She looked like a child again, for a moment. Then she was a fifteen-year-old again, a young woman.

-

-

Arabelle was not the only one growing up, and discovering things. Jillianna, too, was becoming a woman.

Addison had taken her aside one day, just after class, and had given her a ring. It was a promise. That when they were both of age, he would marry her.

Jillianna had been ecstatic. She'd jumped on him, and thrown her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly, not caring that such a move was considered forward.

Addison had spun her around, and held her close.

Everything seemed so wonderful.

It wasn't until that following spring that Erik realized his son was growing up, too. It was a sore blow to the boy when Anna and Thomas's family moved, but he'd gotten very close to little Johara, and it seemed that made the transistion easier.

And about Johara, the doctor had been right. It had been some time since anything had happened, and it seemed she _had _outgrown the epilepsy - quicker than expected, too.

It was nice, though, that she and Charles had become friends. It made everything easier, and it gave an excuse for Erik and Nadir to meet up more often.

Even after so many years, Nadir still could not beat Erik at chess.

"I think I've got it, this time," Nadir warned, sliding his piece into position. "Check."

"And mate," Erik smirked, moving one of his pieces to take out Nadir's king.

Nadir stared at the chessboard. Eventually, he sat back and sighed.

"You've won _again," _he sighed. "Will I _ever _beat you?"

"No," Erik replied confidently, still smirking.

Nadir sighed again.

"How has Arabelle been?" he asked.

This time, Erik sighed.

"She's falling in love, as you know."

Nadir nodded.

"And you can't stand to lose her."

Erik shook his head.

"Exactly," he replied, running his hands through his hair. "She's been mine for _so long, _Nadir. How can he just walk in and take her?"

"It isn't like that," Nadir reminded him. "She will always care about you, Erik. You will always be first in her heart, and you know it."

Erik sighed.

"I know. Still. It isn't fair. I loved her first."

XxX  
Wow, three updates in one day. Well, two written today, another finished long ago. But that's a record for me. Erik: *glares at Cody and grabs Arabelle plushie* _Mine._

Oh, Erik. Everybody grows up.

Erik: *shakes head* Not her.

Poor Erik.

Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter. Review, please!


	25. Revelation

Sorry it's been so long, other stories have cropped up that I'll eventually post. Some of which happen to be Sherlock Holmes-ish. Also, all my stuff was on _my _computer, so I'm practically starting over. It shouldn't be too much longer before I get my computer back.

Revelations  
XxX

Charles sighed happily. It was rare that he was allowed to leave home alone, even though he was nine years old now. When he was, it was a special treat.

Charles truly enjoyed little Bristol. And after that time, when Arabelle had slapped that boy silly for being mean to her little brother, no one dared bother him, whether he was alone or not.

The wrath of Arabelle Destler was not one the boys of Bristol wanted on their heads.

They'd heard of the fight in Farmington, as well.

Charles especially liked the little river that flowed through the center of town. He was unsure of the name, but it's mostly wooded banks were just perfect for finding old Indian treasures.

Arrow heads, bits of old pottery. He found a lot of things lying around on the bank.

He had no idea what he would find today.

Scrambling down the bank, Charles smiled. He loved to explore, and pretend sometimes that he was an Indian boy running around wild and free.

But in the end, he always went back to being Charles Destler.

Because that was his _favorite _thing to be.

As Charles Destler, he had a loving family, and he had friends. As an Indian boy, he was alone, and would have to start all over.

He was swirling a stick in the water when he heard the quiet squeak. Looking around and seeing nothing, Charles shrugged and returned to swishing his stick in the shallows.

A moment later he heard the squeak again, louder, and this time, it sounded almost like a high-pitched meow.

Charles had seen cats before, and he knew his family had one at one point, but he hardly remembered the Siamese Ayesha.

Curious he looked around again. Something was in the shallows; a little box-like something.

Charles watched it float closer, and when it was in his reach, he grabbed at it. The squeaking mew started again.

Carefully, he slowly opened the lid on the wicker box.

Inside was a tiny snow-white ball of fluff. It blinked pale, mismatched eyes up at him. One eye was pale blue, the other light brown. There was not a speck of color on the little kitten, and it was so tiny and vulnerable looking; parts of it's fur sticking together with water.

Charles gently reached in and lifted the animal out of the box. It was terribly thin and small, and it was shaking.

It mewled again in the palms of Charles's hands, looking up at him. The tiny kitten coughed, then sneezed, and he cradled it against his chest.

It mewed quite pitifully, and Charles softly stroked it's quivering back.

"Shh," he whispered, wrapping a fold of his coat around the fragile little kitten. "It's alright, kitty. You're safe now. Shh."

He decided to go home; the kitten needed warmth, after all.

Charles ran much faster to home than he'd come out from the house, and when he reached home, he was out of breath, but he was very proud of himself. He was going to save the little kitten. He'd even come up with a name for her; Moon, because her fur was as white as the moon in the night sky.

He could hear Arabelle playing her violin upstairs, and in the living room, his parents were sitting beside one another on the couch, talking quietly.

"Mama," he murmured, walking into the room. "Papa?"

Erik turned to regard his boy, and Christine stood.

"Did you have a nice day, sweetheart?" Christine asked, smiling.

"What have you got there, son?" Erik questioned, noticing the squirming beneath Charles's coat.

Carefully, slowly, the boy moved his coat aside to reveal the tiny white kitten.

"Charles, where did you _get _her?" Christine gasped, reaching forward to take the baby cat into her hands.

"I found her in the river," Charles replied. "Someone had put her in a box, and put her in the river."

A bit of indignant anger had crept into his words, and Erik smiled slightly, rather proud of his boy's kindness toward the little creature.

"May we keep her?" Charles begged, multi-colored eyes wide and pleading. "_Please?"_

Erik raised an eyebrow and looked at Christine.

"What do you think, my darling? Will she stay?"

Christine laughed lightly.

"Erik, you know I could never turn away such an adorable kitten."

Erik smiled.

"Go get the poor little thing dried off, Charles," he instructed. "I'll show you how to feed it when you've done that."

With a huge grin, and bright eyes, Charles hurried off, cradling the little kitten carefully in his arms.

-

-

"Papa, I think she's sick," Charles worried as he watched the tiny cat the next day.

The kitten, whom Charles had named 'Moonbeam,' was barely interested in the plate of food, or the saucer of milk Charles and Erik had set down for it.

Frowning, Erik reached out and carefully took hold of the small baby. When he touched it, he found her nose dry and warm against his fingers, and when he stroked his hand over her head and back, there was the same heat.

"You're right, Charles," he muttered, standing. "We'll take her to the vet."

Erik left a note to Christine and Arabelle, saying where he and Charles had gone, and took his son off with him.

The spring morning was pleasant enough, and the slight breeze ruffled Charles's hair. A few grey strands had escaped the tie at the back of Erik's neck, and were pressed against the sides of his face, as well.

But neither minded. The wind was actually rather warm, and calming.

The kitten lay curled in several dish towels, held tightly but carefully in Erik's arms as they made their way down through the streets toward the veterinary offices.

"It's a small cold," the vet assured them. "Let her rest, keep her eating, and she'll be fine in a matter of days."

The older man rubbed the side of Moonbeam's little neck, and the kitten began to purr loudly, stretching and turning so that the animal doctor's fingers were on the underside of her chin.

"Affectionate little thing, to be sure," he commented. "And aside from that cold, there is nothing wrong with her."

Erik nodded. So the reasons for the kitten's being in the river were merely an idiotic misconception borne of old wives' tales.

Human superstition had nearly cost tiny Moonbeam her life.

That's _why I don't trust most of the human populace, _he thought darkly, gently scooping the kitten up.

-

-

"You know, Charles," Arabelle said two days later. The siblings were sitting on a picnic blanket in the back yard, just watching the clouds. "You probably saved Moonbeam's life. I doubt anyone else would have found her in time."

_Or had the decency to actually keep her out of that watery tomb when they saw her eyes._

Arabelle knew her thoughts were uncharitable, but it was true. Cats with different colored eyes were considered useless, because there was supposed to be deafness.

Maybe that was sometimes the case, but it wasn't with Moonbeam. Moonbeam heard wonderfully, and always knew when her name was being called.

"I think, though," the teenager went on, "she'll have to stay out of my room for a while. Wouldn't want her to get a taste for nightingales, would we?"

Charles laughed and nodded.

Two weeks back, Arabelle had been out in the yard, playing with Phantom the way she always did. The dog was getting old now, but still enjoyed a game of fetch now and again.

It was while she was waiting for her dog to come back with the stick that she found what turned out to be a baby nightingale in the rosebush in the back yard. She'd run for her father at once.

Erik, on seeing the little bird lying on a white rose, had nearly burst into tears.

The symbolism had been almost lost on Arabelle - so long had it been since she'd been told the old bedtime story - but when her sharp ears had picked up the stifled half-sob, she'd understood, and squeezed her papa's hand.

_"Papa, it's still alive," _she'd told him, reaching our for the bird. _"See? Please don't cry, Papa. Please."_

Erik had smiled ruefully, and shook his head, gently cupping her cheek as his wet eyes met his daughter's confident gaze.

_"You've always been a good girl," _he'd sighed, bending just slightly to kiss her forehead (at fifteen, Arabelle was taller now than Christine, about up to Erik's chin). _"Thank you, _mon coeur._"_

Arabelle smiled at his words. After a moment, she'd reached down and carefully took the little creature into her hands. It chirped fearfully and plaintively, but when Arabelle's grip did not tighten on it, the bird calmed a bit.

The poor baby had been in such danger, just lying on a white rose. It was dark in color and stood out starkly against the light flower petals. Any predator could have seen it. Or old Phantom might have gotten a hold of it.

There had been only one thing in Arabelle's mind that she could do for the little bird, and so she did it.

That very same baby nightingale now sat in a roomy birdcage before a window in her room, slowly growing its flight feathers.

"You know, Charles," Arabelle said again after a moment of silence. "I think you deserve to know something. About Papa."

The other day, Erik had accidentally referenced Persia in the hearing of the children. Arabelle had already known; Christine had told her, shortly after her sixteenth birthday, just in case something ever came up (no matter what, or how many peaceful years passed, Erik still worried that his past would catch up to him in some way _other _than the attacks, and Christine had known of this fear).

So Arabelle knew. She knew all that her father had ever told her mother about his life. Her grandmother, the gypsies, Giovanni, Persia, Charles Garnier, the Opera Ghost.

She knew it all, and now, though she knew Charles was probably too young, she would have to explain.

"You know what Papa said the other day?" she asked, pushing a stray strand of brown hair out of her brother's face.

Charles nodded.

"What did he mean, 'Belle?" he wondered, using the nickname that their father had started using for his daughter recently.

Arabelle took a deep breath.

"First of all, Charles," she began, "You must understand that Papa was a different person then. He did not have Mama with him to keep him steady. Though, it really starts long before Persia..."

She told him all of it, and left nothing out. She explained, and cross-explained, every single reason her mother had given her, and some she'd thought of since.

It took a good two hours or so to do, too. Arabelle was intent on making Charles understand the hows and the whys. She wouldn't have him thinking differently of their papa just because of his past. Yes, it was bloodstained and horrible, but she understood the reasons; the painful, lonely truths of the matter.

Christine had made her promise not to let Erik know that she knew, and Arabelle could easily guess why.

"Papa told Mama in confidence, Charles," Arabelle said. "And I tell _you _in confidence. Papa is a proud person, you know that. It would upset him if he knew we had been told. Papa doesn't like pity. But is it any wonder, Charles? To him, little brother, pity is nearly as bad as fear and hatred.

"Only promise me you won't think differently of him. Papa's time has been hard enough. _Fifty years, _Charles. Can you imagine being alone and unloved for _fifty years, _and never knowing if you would _ever _find someone to love you? And then to finally find someone _you _love, only to know they have no idea you exist, when you seem to have so little time left?"

Charles looked up in confusion.

"But Papa's still here," he replied. "He's still here."

Arabelle nodded.

"Seventeen years ago, little brother," she explained, "Papa's attacks were a lot worse. He was dying. The only thing that saved him was his medicine. It was different, back then. And not as effective.

"Charles, do you ever wonder why Papa sometimes gets tired easily? Why _Mama _works, and _he _doesn't? It's because of his heart. It was worse for him before I was born, because the medicine wasn't as strong, and he didn't take it right. That's what I meant 'when you seem to have so little time left'. Papa thought he was dying, and he almost did."

"I'm glad he didn't, 'Belle," Charles whispered.

Arabelle smiled, and kissed her brother's forehead.

"So am I, little brother. So am I."

A shadow on the ground beside them caused the two to look up.

Erik stood there, smiling down at his children.

Arabelle beamed, and patted the ground to her left.

"Sit with us, Papa?"

Erik nodded and lowered himself to the ground with a quiet sigh.

Arabelle watched him worriedly for a moment. Erik was sixty seven years old, now, and the beginnings of rheumatism were starting to set in.

"What have my loves been up to out here?" he asked, a gentle smirk on his face.

Arabelle smiled and leaned against Erik's shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck, her eyes closed as she nuzzled into the sleeve of his shirt.

"Nothing much, Papa," Charles said brightly, laying down with his head on Erik's lap.

It was at moments like this that the whole truth, and wonder, of life struck Erik harder than the attacks. His _children. _Even seventeen years later, he still found his breath whisked away suddenly by some kind word or trusting touch.

Perhaps he would never get used to it.

XxX  
Chapter done. I hope it wasn't too odd. It had to be a bit action-less for the next chapter that's coming up.


	26. Largo

This is the kind of sad chapter.

Arabelle: _STAY AWAY FROM MY PAPA!!! _*waves very large stick*

Hey, how'd you get my oak staff?

Arabelle: *blinks* Good question. Don't hurt Papa. Or Charles, or Mama, Or -

It's not _that _sad. I promise. *looks at Destler family * Just read on, guys.

And that goes, too, for everybody else. I hope you all don't hate me after this.

Enjoy!

_Largo_  
XxX

Erik came home from an evening with Christine to find Arabelle sitting beside Phantom's basket next to the fireplace, quietly sobbing.

Her back was to him, but he could hear her, and see her shoulders shaking.

From his position by the door, Erik couldn't see if the dog was in its bed, but a distinct feeling of dread settled over him.

He started forward, but a hand touched his shoulder.

"Erik? Erik, what –"

Erik heard Christine's quiet gasp of understanding, and motioned for her to stay where she was.

Silently, he walked forward, stopping perhaps three feet away, and called to his daughter.

"Arabelle," he whispered, and when Arabelle turned to look up at him, her hand lingering in her precious dog's fur, his heart broke.

Carefully, he knelt, and took her into his arms, pulling her onto his folded legs, into his lap, and rocked her, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his chest.

Over the top of the teenager's head, Erik glanced at the dog. He could just hear Phantoms shallow breathing, and when the animal whimpered quietly, Arabelle sobbed.

She tore away from her father's embrace, and dug herself into his fur, her shoulders shaking.

What little life was left in the dog's eyes was fading.

Erik was aware of another, small presence behind him, and turned just enough to see Christine gently hold Charles.

It was true that they loved Phantom, as well, but Christine understood that he was _Arabelle's _dog, and such a moment was for her father to ease.

Christine gently, quietly moved Charles out of the room, and up the stairs, with promises to sit with him, read some of his books together, as they'd done when he was younger.

In the living room, Erik gently reached for Arabelle's shoulder. How, as her father, could he let her continue like this?

"Arabelle…"

The girl wrenched her shoulder away from her father's hand, the voice that usually calmed her, and was perhaps the sound she cherished most, sending her further into hysterics for the quiet finality in it.

"_Leave me alone!"_

Eyes like molten gold blazed at him, pained and furious.

The venom in her voice struck him motionless for several minutes after she'd run up the stairs, Phantom's large body cradled in her arms.

Never had Arabelle turned away when Erik offered her comfort, or understanding. Always she had run to _him_; taken her comfort and solace in his thin, loving arms.

Clearly this went deeper than ought else.

But he understood. She wasn't angry at him. He'd seen the loss in her eyes, furious as they'd been. Arabelle was angry at fate. Fate was taking away her best friend. Her companion since she was small. How was that fair? She had every right to be hurt and mad.

"Erik?"

Erik sighed.

"Let her be," he murmured, sinking into his own chair. "She wants to be alone."

Christine had come down when she'd seen Arabelle run into her room and slam the door. Now, she stood in the living room, eyes dark with concern at the look in her husband's eyes.

She walked forward, and perched on the arm of Erik's chair, wrapping her arms around him.

"That dog has been her friend since she was small," Erik sighed, pressing a sad kiss to the soft skin around Christine's collar bone.

"You miss him, too," Christine whispered gently.

"If only for all the smiles and laughter he gave her," Erik replied just as quietly.

They sat there for some time, silent.

"Charles is alright?" Erik asked. "He does not know?"

Christine shook her head.

"He guessed, but I spoke to him," she replied. "He's upset, but he understands. I think it helps that he has his books."

From above them, the quiet strains of a violin could be heard. It was not the requiem Erik remembered singing for his own Sasha years before, but it was haunting nonetheless.

And to Erik, familiar.

"_Largo," _he whispered. "I'd no idea she knew that song."

Slowly, he stood, and Christine watched him go, knowing where and why, and almost certain he'd be successful; once Arabelle turned to music in a moment of sadness, she could be reached by her father.

-

-

For a long time, Arabelle simply sat on the bed, and stroked the fur of the old dog.

Phantom – _her Phantom_ – was dying.

"It's not _fair!" _she hissed, glaring out the window. There was that one star, still winking brighter than the rest above the wood, but instead of bringing her peace as it always had done before, it only fuled her hurt.

Phantom had been more than a pet since she'd first seen him. He was her friend. The dog had always been her closest friend.

How could this be happening? Oh, she'd known Phantom would live forever, but it still didn't seem fair.

"Oh, Phantom," she sobbed, kissing his grey head again and again.

The old dog snuffled weakly, and opened his mouth to gently lick her cheeks.

_So dogs like tears, _she thought, a sad smile crossing her face, and pained, quiet laugh escaping her that sounding more like a spluttering hiccough.

And yet, by the time the eyes emptied and became like emotionless glass, there was not half the sorrow of a moment ago.

Standing, Arabelle took up her violin, and began to play. She'd never bothered to learn the Requiem (raised Christian, rather than Catholic, she did not believe that a special mass had to be played for a soul's salvation), but she knew another song. Sad and sweet, but ultimately joyful.

_Largo. _Mrs. Inghram had mentioned it earlier that week, and when Arabelle asked about it, the teacher had directed her to a local library where she found a score for the violin.

It had taken her very little time to copy it down onto her own paper, and almost as little time to learn it.

Because with Phantom actually gone, she was free now to realize what she couldn't while her dear dog lived; they would meet again one day. It might be so very many years, but her parents, and that simple little place on Church Street, had taught her that she would meet her old friend on the way to Heaven.

She was well aware of her father's presence at the door by now. Arabelle always knew, somehow, when her papa was there.

She shouldn't have yelled at him downstairs, she knew it, and was sorry. Certainly such a violent refusal would have hurt him.

Turning, she offered up a small smile.

Erik could see that she'd stopped crying, but her face was still wet, and when she stopped playing and set down the instrument, he came forward. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her in her arms and held her.

Arabelle wrapped her arms around her father's shoulders, and sighed into the hollow of his throat.

"I'll miss him, Papa," she whispered.

Erik tightened his grip, rubbing her back softly.

"I know, dearest," he replied as softly. "It is always painful to lose a pet you love."

Arabelle nodded. She knew he understood.

"Sasha," she murmured.

Erik froze, his eyes snapping wide open.

"_What did you say?"_ he hissed in shock, breath catching. "How did you know?"

Her words were soft, mumbled into his shirt, but Erik was sure he heard 'mama'.

He sighed. Maybe it was better Arabelle knew. It seemed she had for some time, and had yet to show her horror of his past.

Yet another woman he did not deserve; who should, now for obvious reasons, want nothing more to do with him.

That made two. Two women who should have run away forever the moment they heard anything about his past, but hadn't.

-

-

The house seemed emptier a few days later, with Phantom buried in a corner of the back yard. Arabelle especially seemed subdued. For the next two days, when she played her violin, _Largo, _by Antonin Dvorak, was the first and last piece she played.

Erik watched her, and sighed. At least she hadn't taken the death of her pet as badly as he'd feared.

She was sad, certainly, but not so broken as she might have been, and Erik was grateful for that.

And yet, when the subject was broached, Arabelle refused the offer of another pet.

"It's not replacing Phantom, I know that," she said softly, smiling faintly, "but I just don't want another animal now. I'm not sure why, Papa. I just don't."

She'd said it all with quiet normality, with only a twinge of sadness for the dog she'd loved.

Erik watched her leave the room, heard her mutter something about going to see her bird.

He wished this hadn't happened. But at least it wasn't one of her human friends.

But the whole ordeal had given Erik a headache, and he wished for Christine to be there. Somehow she made everything easy, and when she was around, he knew exactly what to say to anyone.

-

-

When Christine returned, she found the living room dark, save for the fire, and Erik in his chair, staring blankly at the flames.

"She's more upset than she'll say," he murmured when he heard her light step on the floor. "And she understands more than she ought. I know she knows," Erik sighed, turning to his wife. "Just sixteen years ago, I think I would have been furious, Christine. But somehow, I think she found out the best way possible. From you. God knows she would have had to hear it sooner or later."

Christine gently touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry if my telling her upset you," she offered.

Erik shook his head.

"No," he sighed again. "I was just thinking. The similarities are striking, and yet the differences are incredible."

Christine looked down at him in sympathetic understanding, glad, though, that the life of pain he'd led for fifty years was well and truly behind him.

Erik surprised her slightly by reaching out, and pulling her onto his lap.

"I suppose death is always with us," he muttered, burying his face in Christine's shoulder.

The morbid words startled her, but Christine knew Erik better than to worry. There were moments, like this, when that old depressed attitude from his previous life would rear its ugly head, but they always passed.

She sighed, and shifted her hold on him, running the fingers of her right hand through the strands of dark silver hair she so loved. In the fire light, or in bright sun, sometimes, the short locks shimmered a bit. It absolutely entranced her.

"She'll be alright, though," Christine whispered. "You know that, Erik."

Erik smiled up at his wife.

"Yes," he breathed.

_That girl will always be alright. Whatever may come her way in life, she'll pull through._

For several days afterward, the strains of Dvorak's _Largo _faded into memory.

XxX  
See, I warned you all it would be a bit sad. But just a bit.

Arabelle: o.o *sniff* You killed my dog...?

*Shrugs* Sorry. Everyone and everything does die, eventually.

Arabelle: *pouts*

I hope you guys liked it. Review, please!


	27. Scars Remain

I _really _didn't mean to let this go so long! Sorry everyone. I finally got the Sims 2 on this computer, and it kind of swallowed up my life. That, and the last three or more weekends were taken up with practice for, and the three weekends of, the very first ren-fair I ever acted in.

But anyway, here's the next chapter.

Erik: about bloody time, there!

Arabelle: yeah!

Sorry, guys, my life kind of took over.

Erik: you have a life?

Yes! Meanie…. I'm ending this conversation. On with the story!

*shoves Erik and company into the computer screen*

Scars Remain  
XxX

. . .

_It was late. He was not sure what time, but Christine certainly should have been here by now. Agitated, he paced the carpet in the sitting-room on the house by the lake, waiting, waiting for the bells to ring, to signal her arrival at the other shore._

_At last he heard the alarms, and he rushed for the boat. He was not far from shore when the frantic pace of his rowing set a dull pressure in his chest, and he slowed, wary of another attack. It had only been a week since the last, since the night he'd sent her back._

_When at last he reached the shore, Christine was panicked. He could hear her screaming for him, heard the tears in her voice. Instead of telling her the lie he'd thought of when he'd first heard her cries – that he had been there the whole time as an experiment, to throw off any possible concern – he took her hand and spoke the truth._

_She smiled at him as she removed his mask, radiant and beaming in the dim light of his lantern. Slowly, he leaned down to her, but then something forced them apart, and Christine was being pulled away from him, backward into the dark. Terror took hold and when he tried to reach her - save her - he found he could not move._

_"Cristine!" _

_Erik strained against the invisible force that held him still, spurred on by the fear in his Christine's face._

"_Help me, Erik!" she cried, reaching for him._

_As he tried to move to catch her hand, a voice echoed in the darkness._

"_You do not deserve her!"_

_"Let her go!" Erik roared, fists clenched. "She made her choice tonight!"_

_"You do not deserve her!"_

_The assertion was repeated again and again, and joined by a chorus of voices from his past._

"_You ruined my life!"_

_His mother._

"_You killed me."_

_Lucianna. _

_Erik's head began to spin and he grew dizzy. The horror he felt increased a hundred fold._

"_I thought Father and I could trust you!"_

_Reza's voice rang in his ears as he clutched his head, shaking and gasping._

"_You took uncaring control of another's existence!"_

_Jules. But he'd done such good for the man's family. How could he hate him?_

"_You stole the woman I was to marry."_

_That wretched boy! But now, it was _he, _Raoul de Chagny, who held the power._

_And most painful of all, was the final voice. A voice he knew and loved so well, rose in a crescendo of hate and anger, frustration and disgust. And all of that ugliness was directed at him._

"_YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM MY LOVE!"_

_Tears coursed down Erik's face as he reached out to her, even though the look on her face had turned from fright, to rage._

_"CHRISTINE!"_

_. . ._

Erik woke with a strangled cry, clutching at his throat to stifle the sound. His shoulders and chest heaved with his heavy, slightly wheezy breathing.

"Erik?"

Before he had even turned to fully look at her, Erik had crushed her in his arms, clinging desperately as he sobbed against her nightgown. The nightmare still held much sway over his mind.

"Forgive me," he rasped, tears making his words come out spluttered and unclear. "Oh, Christine, _forgive me!"_

Confused, but even more concerned, Christine held him close, running her hand across his boney shoulders, and making soft shushing sounds.

"Erik, what are you talking about?" she whispered, pulling back enough to wipe the tears off his hollow cheeks. "My love, calm down. It was only a dream."

It slowly came to Erik that he was not beneath the opera, but in the house in Bristol, seventeen years ahead of the time in the nightmare. His children were sleeping across the hall, and it was not Christine, his student, who held him, but Christine, his wife.

As the last tendrils of the dream left him, he leaned his forehead onto his wife's shoulder.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed, closing his eyes.

Christine could feel him shaking, and she held him close.

"Erik," she muttered, gently stroking the dark silver strands of Erik's hair. "Tell me. Tell me the dream, Erik. Please?"

Trembling, Erik buried his face in Christine's neck, and told her, in an unsteady voice the horror the nightmare had instilled.

Pain tore at Christine's heart. How, after so many years, could the past have still such a strong hold on Erik? It wasn't at all fair, and she wanted nothing more than to chase that darkness away.

"My love," Christine breathed, holding his face in her hands. "How long have you had these dreams?"

Erik sighed shakily, and pushed his hair out of his face.

"The voices have always been there," he replied, barely looking at her, his body still shuddering from the emotion. Behind his ribs, his heart thudded heavily, almost painfully. "Some change, but for eighteen years, it has been that way. You and I beneath the lake, and he takes you, and then…

"Oh, Christine, I feel foolish. How many times have you sworn your love to me? One would think that, by now, I would be used to it. Confident that you will never leave me, that you love me. That I am worthy of you, and yet…."

He shook his head and rubbed at tired eyes.

"It is nights like this that make me grateful I was always a dreadful insomniac in younger years."

Christine tilted her head to the side, confusion in her eyes.

"The dreams used to be more violent," Erik explained. "And far more common. It is a blessed miracle that they have lessened. I don't know that I'd have the strength to deal with them if they hadn't."

The wry, almost bittersweet, smile on his face, coupled with his dark words, concerned Christine.

"Of course you'd be strong enough, Erik," Christine replied, kissing him softly. "You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for."

With an exhausted sigh, Erik rested his forehead on Christine's shoulder and closed his eyes. A weak laugh escaped him, and he wrapped his arms around Christine's waist.

"I love you," he whispered. "God knows how I love you, my Christine."

"Mama, Papa? I heard Papa scream."

Arabelle stood in the doorway, Charles hovering just behind her. With a weary grin, Erik reached out his arms for his children to come to him.

Arabelle snuggled right against his chest, and Charles laid his head on his father's leg.

"It's alright now," he assured, kissing both of them. "It was just a silly dream."

"Dreams aren't silly," Arabelle replied, her yellow eyes glittering in the dark. "I've read about them, Papa. They almost always mean something – though what that one I had where I was eating a pickle with a talking bologna sandwich meant, I'll never know. I don't even _like _bologna."

Erik chuckled, and Arabelle indulged in a private moment of victory. The only reason she'd mentioned her ridiculous dream was to make her father laugh and forget whatever it was that had upset him.

Her mission accomplished, the seventeen-year-old burrowed closer into the hollow of Erik's throat, smiling as she closed her eyes.

"Let's all try to go back to sleep," Christine suggested, watching Charles yawn. Erik, too, was blinking lazily, a sure sign that sleep was not far off. In his arms, Arabelle was already out, curled against his side, her head still resting against his chest.

Nodding in agreement, Erik lay back and wrapped an arm around Arabelle, and the other around Christine, who held Charles.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes closing. "I love all of you."

Christine smiled fondly. Erik may not have been perfect, but he was more than enough for her. Perhaps he was right, though, about not deserving her in the beginning. As she thought of it, Christine decided that neither of them had deserved the other at first. And over time, they had each deserved less and better, until finally, it became apparent what was meant to be.

She looked long at Erik's face. The pale, somewhat blotchy skin, deep-set eyes, and hollow cheeks were dearer and more familiar to her than her own face. His lips, thin and dry though they were, were always soft, and slightly warm.

And yet, there were times when she worried about how much longer they would have. Erik was almost seventy, and Christine had noticed changes. He tired more easily; when out of breath, though he thought Christine did not notice, his hand would often press above his heart; the lines etched into his face that weren't there just a short time ago.

She knew also that he was taking the medicine more often, as well. It scared her to think that it might not be working as well as it used to; another sign of age that terrified her to think of.

And Erik's nightmare tonight had clearly upset him. She'd no idea that the past still haunted him so, that he'd had the dream through the years.

_He could have told me, _she thought with nothing but concern.

Christine hated Erik's past, and most of the people in it for what they had done to him. What innocent child deserved to be told that they'd ruined their mother's life, or to be caged like an animal? What right did anyone have to poison another simply because of who they were, the power they held? Who issued the landlords and other tenants the power to force a person out just for their face? It all sickened her, and made her try even harder, whenever she thought of it, to make her Erik smile.

He had a truly wonderful smile, Christine believed. When Erik smiled – really smiled – his eyes would flash, and his cheeks appeared fuller. Christine adored the sparkle of light that brightened his face, made him look more beautiful in some sublime, quiet way, than any other person she'd ever seen, because in those moments, it was the beauty of a restored soul that shone out. The beauty of what Erik really was; a kind, loving person, who was shy and sensitive, but willing to open up for the right people.

And it was an honor beyond measure in Christine's eyes that Erik had chosen _her _to open up to. Her, and their darling children. Life could not have been sweeter most of the time; Erik truly trusted her, and adored with all his heart his family.

A calmness came over her, and Christine felt sleep begin to pull. It didn't matter, suddenly, how long she still would have with Erik. It didn't matter that he was thirty years her senior, with a weak heart. All that mattered now was that he was happy in the end. Happy with her, with the children.

In her arms, Charles shifted, and beside Erik, Arabelle moved a little closer. Christine watched her husband's grip tighten protectively – lovingly – around the girl's shoulders, and smiled.

How peaceful it all seemed. In that moment, it didn't matter to her that the scars of Erik's past were still present. What mattered was that she, Arabelle, and Charles were there to lessen the pain of the memories.

XxX  
I love moments like this. I know it's kind of corny, but it's cute too, right guys?

. . .

Guys?

. . .

_Guys?_

*Chibi Erik, Christine, Arabelle, and Charles are huddled on the arm of the couch, sleeping*

Aww!

Aren't they cute?

*whips out camera*

*whispers*

Review, please! I really hope you all liked it.


	28. Just Between Us

I am so, _SO _sorry it took so long to update this. I couldn't think of anything for a while, and then renfaire season kicked in, but that's almost over with now, and I finally figured out where to go from last chapter...

Erik: *frowns, still holding my sword*

um... heh, heh... i'm sorry?

Erik: Not good enough. Fighty time.

Arabelle: Wait! Wait wait wait! How are we here, if we're in that other story?

erm... artistic license? author's prerogative? you're actually just figments of my imagination?

Arabelle: Not good enough. Fighty time.

crap, how did you get my bow? it doesn't even have a stri - OH GOD SHE RESTRUNG IT AND GOT ARROWS! RUN AWAY!

Arabelle: Eheheh... My turn! *promptly moves to the laptop*

uh-uh, my creation. *is followed by all the characters from my acting troupe as backup* don't worry. i gots plans again, i swear. also, i feel i should warn readers; this particular story is closing in on its end. there'll probably be a shorter epilogue-ish thingy, but in a few more chapters, this one's done.

Everybody: Aww...

what? every good story has to end somewhere. don't worry, i'll leave it on an open note. and now, on to the next chapter!

* * *

Just Between Us

* * *

He found her in the garden. She was almost to the gate, a basket of clipped flowers hanging from one arm, and Erik had to hurry to catch her up. Arabelle heard his approach, and turned, and Erik was stunned by what a lovely young woman she had become. He'd been expecting his little girl, not the pretty creature who ran to him with eyes full of innocence.

She looked like her mother. Not in coloring, but in shape. She was taller, paler, but her face was the same heart shape, and her inky hair curled like Christine's. Indeed, without the yellow eyes and black hair, she could have passed for her mother. At eighteen years old, she was no longer the little girl who feared a white mask.

As she reached him, Arabelle slowed almost to a halt before wrapping her arms around him. The older she got, the more mindful she became of her father's age and his faulty health. Erik's persistent gauntness worried her almost more than it did Christine, especially since his last attack earlier that spring. It was the end of summer now, and since April, Erik had been bound to his bed because of his illness.

At the time, Arabelle had been beside herself. Never had she seen him so frail, and though Christine had - almost religiously - assured her that he had been in worse shape under the Garnier, the younger woman did not believe it. Indeed, for the first two weeks afterward, even the doctor had expressed concern that Erik would not be recovering this time.

The attack had occurred early one morning in the first half of April. Christine had already gone to the Thomaston Opera House for the day (despite her concern for Erik; he'd looked so pale and tired when he kissed her farewell that morning that she'd wanted to stay. In the end, he had convinced her to go; that all would be well while she was away), and Arabelle and Charles would be getting up for school soon.

Arabelle had found him, crumpled by the hearth, barely breathing. She had screamed herself breathless, and had been too dizzy to move for several long moments. But then Charles had appeared, and Arabelle ordered him to the phone in the kitchen. The only thing in her mind then was that she could not, at any cost, let her brother see their father like this.

If he was beyond help, she would not let Charles's last memory of him be this.

But things had turned around eventually. While Charles yelled almost incoherently at the operator about needing Doctor Mason, Arabelle had torn apart the sitting room searching for Erik's hawthorn. The bottle he always carried was not with him, and a terrible little voice in the back of Arabelle's mind asked her why.

_Did he know this would be his end?_

The thought terrified her, and spurred her into even turning over the furniture looking for the medicine.

At last, shaking hands found the bottle in the table drawer next to Erik's chair. With a cry that was a cross between a sob and a wail of relief, she fumbled, nearly dropped the bottle.

Later, she would thank God that women wore dresses, because it was bending her knees as she reached for the hawthorn, coupled with her wide stance and several layers of skirts, that saved the day; there was a rug in the center of the floor, but not here. Had the bottle's descent not been slowed enough by her skirts for her hands to close around it again, it would have shattered on the hard wood. And the easily smashed tablets within would have been destroyed.

Even with the medicine working to ease the strain on his heart, Erik did not wake until after the doctor had come and gone. Between themselves, Arabelle and Charles had managed to get Erik up to his bed without hurting him further. When the doorbell rang, Arabelle sent Charles to his room, and tried to compose herself enough to not look a hysterical mess.

Because she was many things at the moment; frightened, sad, angry at herself, confused, and hopeful, but one thing she was not was hysterical. Reigning in her emotions with an iron will that came directly from her father, Arabelle brushed at the tears running down her cheeks and made for the stairs.

In the end, Doctor Mason had managed to bring Erik around enough that he was out of immediate danger.

"Let him sleep as long as he sleeps," the doctor had instructed. "He is not to leave that bed for a month at least."

There had been much, much more. There could be no more rich foods, he would need assistance in going farther than the front rooms of the house. He would not ever recover _all _the strength lost from this, and indeed, he might not recover at all.

But he had, as much as could be expected in just four months. Erik tired very easily, now, and just climbing the stairs to his and Christine's room left him breathless. As a result, Christine insisted on moving their bedroom downstairs to the old study. Erik had protested this, of course, but with everyone teamed up against him, there was nothing he could do about it.

"I do not need to be coddled," he had grumbled from his chair. The slight tremor in his hands said otherwise.

"Where are you going, dear-heart?"

Erik's voice startled Arabelle for a moment, so that she stared in confusion. Then she blinked, and smiled, memories fading to mist as she was brought back to the present.

"I thought the sitting room could use some flowers, Papa," she replied brightly. "These were just perfect, but I wanted to walk in the woods."

Erik's face crinkled around his mouth and eyes as he smiled.

"Well then," he said with a flourish. "Might I have the honor of escorting such a lovely young woman?" He offered her his arm, and, blushing, Arabelle wrapped her hands around it.

"How are you feeling, Papa?" she asked quietly, inside hating the soft tap of the cane Erik used as he walked. Erik shifted so that the cane was under his arm, and patted her hand reassuringly.

"I'm alright, Arabelle," he insisted gently. "You and your mother worry too much."

Arabelle sighed, and fought down the urge to roll her eyes or argue the point. She and Christine most certainly did _not _worry too much; Doctor Mason had warned them very seriously that another such attack would almost certainly kill him. Indeed, the doctor had eventually told Erik as much, but Erik was nothing if not stubborn, and if he wanted to think he was being coddled unnecessarily, let him think that if it kept the peace and kept him at least in some semblance of good health. Better to let him be mildly annoyed than riled by argument.

"Is Cody coming today?" Erik asked after a moment of silence. Arabelle recognized the change of subject for what it was, but let it go, because yes, Cody _was _supposed to come over today, and she was more than excited for it.

For almost three months, Cody and Arabelle had been something of an item. He came by once or twice a week, and though Erik had initially reacted to his suite the same way he had to seeing the two kiss for the first time, now he was quite pleased to see the boy coming around.

"He said he wanted to ask me something," Arabelle replied. "Said it was important. I cannot think what it could be, Papa, but if he wants me to attend another of his aunt's parties..."

That was the funny thing about Arabelle, Erik reflected. She wasn't much for parties, in general, but she especially did not care for Lucia Emmerson's. The old spinster was arrogant, and dismissive of Arabelle at the best of times, which was why the girl had never extended an invitation along to her family. Christine would bristle, Erik would likely be stressed into the worst attack he'd ever had, and Charles just didn't like being surrounded by so many people.

But to hear her say Cody had something to ask her made Erik smile privately. He knew _exactly _what the boy intended to ask.

_/flashback/_

_"Arabelle isn't here, sir, is she?"_

_Erik smiled at the younger man._

_"I'm afraid not," he replied. "She left with Jillianna and her friends to dinner. I... _believe _they said they were going to one of those new moving pictures afterward. I'll be sure to tell her you were here."_

_But Cody didn't thank him. He just stood there, looking vaguely nervous for a moment, and Erik wondered if something were wrong. If the boy were intending to break off things with Arabelle, then the whole situation would not be ending well. Arabelle was quite taken with her boyfriend._

_"What is it?" Erik demanded warily, stepping back and indicating for Cody to come in. He didn't exactly want to, if the boy's intentions were to let Arabelle down, but Christine would never let him hear the end of it if he were rude._

_Cody entered nervously, and followed Erik into the parlor. _

_"I actually wanted, erm... to talk to you, Mr. Destler," he admitted quietly. "_A-about_ Arabelle..."_

_Erik frowned. Did the boy know something about his daughter that he didn't? Was something the matter?_

_"Well, what did you want to say?" he sighed, willing his heart to slow down. _

_Cody opened his mouth to speak, and - _

And suddenly, Erik was in the woods with Arabelle again, and she was watching him so closely.

"Are you alright, Papa?" she asked, her grip shifting from companionable to steadying as her eyes darkened with worry. Erik waved off her concern with a warm smile.

"Of course I am, my dearest," he replied, smiling gently. He cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her forehead lovingly. Arabelle smiled, herself, and leaned into the contact a bit. No matter her age, no matter the place, she was still, and always would be, her father's girl. "I was only thinking."

Golden eyes regarded him for a long moment, narrowed, and watchful with worry, but then Arabelle smiled, and nodded. They resumed walking.

About a minute later, Arabelle gasped, and slipped from Erik's side. She trotted toward a clump of deep purple wildflowers, dropping to her knees, and inspecting the blossoms closely.

"Papa, aren't these beautiful?" she laughed, producing a pair of small scissors from a pocket on her dress. Arabelle clipped several stems, and stood. By now, Erik had joined her, and she held the flowers up for her father's inspection.

"Not half so lovely as you, my darling girl," Erik said softly, cupping her face. "You look more like your mother every day."

Arabelle laughed, her head thrown back, and a kind smile on her lips.

"She says I look like you, Papa," the young woman replied. "I do."

Erik smiled, and patted her hand.

"Maybe so," he said. "But your hair curls, and mine does not. Your mother's does. Your skin is fair, like hers; mine is some ungodly mottled mess." At that remark, Arabelle grumbled wordlessly. She would never get used to hearing him put himself down so. "It's true, love," Erik reminded her quietly. "And your eyes, 'belle. They may be yellow like mine, but they're shaped like your mother's. Everything about you is reminiscent of her."

"I know something that _didn't _come from Mamma," Arabelle countered, smiling sweetly. "My hands are like yours, Papa. Mother's fingers are short, and tapered. Mine are long and thin from the base, just like yours'. Just like you," she finished, laying her head on his shoulder. Even though age and ill health were starting to bend him downward, and even though Arabelle was tall for a woman, Erik was still taller, and Arabelle's head rested perfectly in that groove between shoulder and chest.

Erik let out a slightly unsteady breath. How, _how _had he managed to deserve this? He'd asked himself so many times, and still wasn't sure. For eighteen years, he'd put on a show; he'd ignored every urge to hide, strong as they were, when out in public, and had lost count of how many times he'd only not fought, or killed someone, because of his family. He never had changed from the time beneath the opera house, not really. He'd just tucked that person away and ignored him.

It grew easier with age, if only because he no longer had the strength to indulge the Phantom.

For a while, they walked in silence. They came to the end of the trail after about fifteen minutes of walking. The path opened up into a lovely clearing, where Arabelle and her family had picnicked occasionally.

"Go, dearest," Erik said, panting slightly. He could see in her stance how much she wanted to run around in the space. "It's... been so long, since we've come here."

Arabelle picked up at once on the heavy, labored breathing, and the frown that held some pain on his face.

"Papa?" she asked, immediately on alert. "Papa, what's wrong? Is it your heart?" Her eyes were worried, and her hands steadying as they clutched at Erik's shoulders.

"I'm alright, Arabelle," Erik assured her, still gasping. "I just... just need to catch my breath..." He leaned against a tree, and gestured at the clearing. "Go on, darling. I'll be... right here."

Arabelle opened her mouth to argue the point, but seeing the strain already in Erik's eyes, she shut her mouth and went to stand in the sunlit grass. The glen had a calming effect, and she smiled, tilting her head back and spreading her arms as she spun around slowly.

"Do you remember our last picnic here, Papa?" she sighed, her eyes closed. "When Jillianna came with us?"

Erik smiled tremulously.

"Yes..."

He could feel his heart pounding after the walk, even though the ground was easy and level, but he was sure it would pass with rest. It always had before.

After a few minutes, Arabelle returned to the tree where Erik stood, and scooped up her basket of flowers. She noted right away that her papa was pale, and sweating. His shoulders were not heaving with effort, but she could clearly see his chest expanding and contracting rapidly.

"Papa?" she asked, touching his shoulder. "Papa, you're not well..."

Erik smiled again, this time smaller and weaker than before.

"Just... too long... a walk, dear-heart..." he replied, but Arabelle could hear the wheezing in his breath. When he groaned and stumbled slightly stepping away from the tree, Arabelle grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

"Papa!" she gasped, her eyes darkening with concern. "Oh, Papa... Your medicine, do you -"

"It's... it's at the house... 'Belle... But it's alright... I'm... alright..." Now he shuddered, the frown from when they'd reached the glade returning, filled with pain.

"No, you're not," Arabelle whispered, realizing that the situation could very easily turn _bad. _"Let's go back to the house, Papa. You should rest."

Erik rolled his eyes, but, if he were honest, he didn't have the strength to argue. He'd honestly thought the exhaustion and weakness would fade if he just stayed still and didn't stress his body for a few minutes. Now, however, his heart was racing hard and fast, and his chest felt painfully tight. He'd been a fool to think he could get away with leaving the medicine at the house. He'd thought he'd be returning as soon as he went out to get Arabelle, but now he was out in the woods, without it, and Arabelle was forced to deal with him.

It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't fair that she had to cut her time in the woods short for a frail old man who had no business still being alive - never mind being the father of something so precious - especially in his condition.

The walk back was mostly silent, though the few times Erik stumbled, Arabelle had murmured encouragement and reassurance that the house was not far, and they could rest any time Erik wished.

Halfway home, Erik felt a particularly sharp stab of pain, and the sense that continuing would only end very badly finally convinced him to stop for a moment.

"Here, Papa, sit here." Arabelle guided him to a boulder on the side of the path, and Erik sat heavily. His head hung, and his entire body was quivering. Erik's hands shook from time to time, but the trembling only grew this bad when he was ill.

Arabelle bit her lip. Erik needed his medicine, and they were only a few minutes from the house, but she did not dare to leave him alone. If the attack worsened while she was gone, Arabelle would never forgive herself. She removed his mask and reached into a pocket for the cloth napkin she'd absently stored there after breakfast, and used it to gently wipe the sweat from Erik's face.

"Thank you, Arabelle..." her father sighed, his throat working hard as he gulped in air. Now his shoulders were heaving, and his breath came ragged and shallow, despite the effort to get in more oxygen.

"Of course, Papa," Arabelle muttered, shaking herself as she gently brushed a stray strand of silver hair out of Erik's face.

"I think... I can continue," Erik said after a long moment. It wasn't true. He knew he wasn't quite ready to get up and walk, even with Arabelle and the cane, but he had no choice; he needed the medicine, and Arabelle looked like she was about to start hyperventilating, she was so worried.

Ignoring the tightness and pain that increased when he did so, Erik used the cane and Arabelle's shoulder to get to his feet. Arabelle stood quickly, and took his arm in a supporting way, then wrapped one arm around his waist to better hold him steady.

"We'll walk slowly, Papa," she assured him, taking small, careful steps to accommodate. "We're almost home."

Erik tried for another smile, but it didn't last. Another flare of pain turned it into a tight grimace.

When they reached the house ten minutes later, Erik was again covered in cold sweat, and was shaking like a leaf. He was huffing and gasping badly, and the front porch steps tripped him up so that even Arabelle was not able to completely save him. She caught him before he could hit the floorboards, but the rush of the moment caused his heart to pick up speed painfully.

Arabelle helped him into the living room, where he all but collapsed on the sofa, wheezing markedly, one boney hand pressed against his chest.

"Where did you put your medicine, Papa?" Arabelle asked, praying she wouldn't have to leave him alone to get the bottle in the bathroom. Erik gestured weakly toward the fireplace.

"On... on the mantle..." he croaked, coughing. Arabelle hurried to open the bottle and shake out the required dose of two tablets, and returned to press them into her father's hands. Erik swallowed thickly around the tablets, then sagged back against the arm. Arabelle knelt on the floor next to him, and used the napkin from her pocket to wipe Erik's face again. Once his breathing started to even out, she pressed a relieved, loving kiss against his cheek, and stood.

"I'll get you some water, Papa?" she offered. Erik nodded, weakly raising his right hand to his forehead to cover his eyes. This time, the attack had spawned a relatively massive headache, something Arabelle wordlessly picked up, and acted, on.

In the kitchen, she filled a cup with water, and soaked down the napkin. She folded it until it was small enough for a compress, and returned with it and the water to her papa.

He was still lying down on the sofa, head propped on the arm at one end. As she passed, Arabelle gently lifted his legs, and leaned them on the other arm. Erik cracked open one eye to look at her.

"Remember what Doctor Mason said?" Arabelle reminded him. "It helps to elevate your feet." Then she knelt at his head again, and placed the wet cloth on his forehead. As she went to bring the cup of water to his lips, Erik pushed himself up into a slightly more upright position, and took the cup from her. Arabelle picked up the wet napkin, which had fallen, and dabbed at his face with it. He was still shaking, and she worriedly placed a gentle hand on his arm.

It was moments like this that she realized just how lucky she was to still have her father with her. Days like today, and the weeks he'd been bedridden that spring, brought home just how ill Erik really was. He was so thin, and she could see clearly why her mother worried so much. She'd always known Erik had been forbidden to work because his heart was weak, but now that she was older, she understood just how badly off he was.

In her younger years, he'd been a bit better, but now that she looked back, Arabelle saw all the signs she'd missed as a child; the handful of times when Erik hadn't come downstairs until nearly noon, looking tired and frail; the way he so often favored his left side, or flexed that hand repeatedly. It had always unnerved Arabelle's Uncle Nadir, if for different reasons, but these days, Arabelle saw the action for what it was; numbness, and occasionally pain.

Once he'd finished the water, Erik sighed, and lay back, his eyes closed. His eyes were shadowed with deep purple rings, and Arabelle wondered if he'd been able to sleep well lately.

"Would you rather rest in bed, Papa?" Arabelle asked, nervously rubbing his arm. "Surely you would be more comfortable..."

Erik sighed again, but didn't open his eyes. "When is your brother supposed to come home?"

Arabelle glanced at the clock on the mantle. Twelve fifteen.

"Not for another three hours, Papa," she replied. "But... it takes an hour to get to the school and back. I can't leave you alone that long, Papa... Not when you're ill..."

"Oh, stop it," Erik groaned quietly. "I won't say I'm in perfect health, but one hour alone won't mean my death, Arabelle." Now he opened his eyes and smiled at his daughter, though his yellow eyes were worried. "You'll make yourself sick if you keep this up all the time..."

"But, Papa, you -"

"_I _am old, Arabelle," Erik interrupted softly, though his voice was firm. "Even if I weren't ill, I doubt I would be around for much longer. You, my darling girl, are still young. Your life is ahead of you yet. Don't spoil it worrying about me. God knows your mother does that enough without your help."

The teasing grin that accompanied her father's final sentence made Arabelle giggle a bit.

"Just promise me one thing, Arabelle," Erik said after a moment. Arabelle looked at him expectantly.

"Anything, Papa," she replied.

"Don't tell your mother..."

* * *

I really am sorry it took so long to get this out. But, now I know where I'm going with this again, and it's close to done, so it should be smooth sailing. Anyway, I hope you guys all liked this chapter, and please, _please _don't hate me for the Erik torture...? It works so well for showing the close and caring relationship that exists between Erik and Arabelle.

Review, please!


	29. Preparations

Chapter 29! Just one or two more to go.

Arabelle; aw...

what? there'll be an epilogue story. just don't worry about it, ok? trust me, things'll be pretty sweet in the next couple of chapters. Although, I should warn you, my dear readers, there will be a couple of characters you might remember from much earlier, two of whom are probably _not _fondly thought of...

Preparations

* * *

"Cody, how can you ask that of him?" Arabelle sighed. "All those people, and Papa's health... If something goes wrong -"

"Arabelle," Cody cut in gently, taking her shoulders. "Nothing will go wrong. It's a masquerade, of sorts. Aunt Jacqueline said they are quite popular in Europe. No one would have to know the reason for his mask. He could even wear a different one for the party."

Arabelle bit her lip, and glanced at the door to the study-turned-master bedroom. It was two thirty, and in a few minutes, she would be going to get Charles from school.

"'Belle, I hate upsetting you," he said. "You know that. But it is _imperative _that your family be there. Your Uncle Nadir and his daughter are more than welcome to come, and Jillianna, as well. Please, Arabelle. There's going to be a surprise at the party, and I do not want your family to miss it."

For a long moment, Arabelle searched Cody's eyes, then she sighed.

"Alright, I'll tell him," she replied. "But not yet. You said the dance is next week? I'll give him a few days to recover before I tell him about it."

Cody nodded, smiling soft and sweet.

"Of course, 'Belle," he whispered, kissing her softly. Arabelle responded in kind, but Cody pulled back. "I will not give your father reason to dislike me," he explained, and the playful look in his eyes made Arabelle laugh.

"Oh, Jill will love this!" she giggled. "I wonder if Mamma will let me wear her white dress? It hangs in the very back of her closet, and she never uses it. It got stained somehow, years ago, but I'm _sure _I could fix it up for the party!"

Cody smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Then I'll see you this Saturday, 'Belle," he said, and with a last parting smile and a squeeze of her hand, he left. After a moment, Arabelle ran out onto the porch.

"Cody!" she called. He was at the gate, and turned back to look at her. "I love you!"

The young man smiled, and Arabelle thought his dark skin made his smile even more dazzling.

"And I, you."

She watched until she could not see him anymore, then went back inside.

All her excitement and energy came to a dead halt when she saw the door to her parents' room. The old study had been just perfect; more toward the back of the house, so that the room was typically very quiet, and on the first floor. It was the perfect place for a bedroom.

Cautiously, Arabelle eased open the door, and looked in.

"Papa," she called softly.

"Hm?"

Arabelle smiled, and walked into the room.

"I'm going to pick up Charles, now, Papa," she said. "Mamma said she'd be home about seven tonight; I'll make us all dinner when I come back."

"Be safe, dear-heart," he sighed, sitting up to press a kiss to her cheek. Arabelle returned the gesture. She was about to leave when Erik spoke again.

"What did Cody want?" he asked, and there was a slight smile on his face - almost knowing.

At the mention of Cody's request, all her previous excitement came roaring back.

"Oh, Papa, he wants us all to go to one of his Aunt Jacqueline's parties in Farmington," she replied. "It's a masked dance, so no one would know the difference. He said it is very important that we all be there. I know you don't like crowds or parties, but _please, _Papa? He said something about a surprise, and -"

"And we'll all be there," Erik interrupted, still grinning. "Go and get your brother, now. Have you thought of a dress?"

Halfway to the door, Arabelle turned around, smiling broadly.

"If she'll let me, I was thinking I'd wear Mamma's old white dress!"

* * *

"Oh, Nadir, she _can't!_ It'll _kill him_ to see that dress again!"

Nadir sighed quietly.

"Then why did you keep it?" he asked. Christine covered her tear-stained face with her hands and made a frustrated noise.

"The _one thing _I didn't tell her!" she sobbed. "Oh, I don't even _know _why, Nadir! I suppose... well, the first time I wore it... was during a music lesson. We'd gone to the _Bois de Boulogne... _It was an utter disaster... But, then Erik said we ought to sing, and... he wanted me to wear the dress. He acted so strangely - of course, now I see it was lust, but I was so afraid for him, that night... He'd gotten so worked up over Raoul being at the _Bois, _and it had only been a short time after his first attack... I was so worried about him; I realized I loved him that night, Nadir... He looked so vulnerable - Oh, Nadir, she _can't wear that dress!_"

The elderly Persian stood up, and took Christine by the shoulders.

"Calm down, Christine," he said, his voice firm and commanding, though far from unkind. He looked her squarely in the eyes. "Does Erik know?"

"_No!"_ Christine gasped. "Arabelle was asking about it when I came home. Erik _mustn't _know about the dress! Oh, he'll be _furious, _Nadir! I _know _he will!"

"To tell you the truth, _mon coeur,_ I'm not upset about the dress."

With a squeak, Christine spun around. Erik stood in the doorway, unmasked, and looking exhausted. He was wearing just a pair of cotton pants - what he always wore to sleep - and in the light of the room, every shadow of skeletal thinness stood out starkly. There had been a time, not too long ago, when Erik had started to gain some weight finally. He'd still been much too thin, but the boney places on his body had softened just a bit. The attack that spring had put an end to that, though, and Christine was sure he was thinner now than he'd ever been beneath the Garnier.

He was leaning heavily against the doorway, and Christine hurried to him.

"Erik!" she hissed, wide-eyed and concerned. "I thought you were asleep! I didn't mean to wake you!"

"You didn't. What is this, Christine?"

His tone was completely level, but in his glimmering yellow eyes there was a barely restrained fury.

And deep, deep hurt.

Suddenly overcome by a sense that something horrible was about to happen if she didn't do something, Christine guided Erik to the couch and took his hand.

"Erik, please," she soothed, touching his bare cheek. "I'm sorry I've upset you. I only called Nadir over because..."

"Christine." Erik's voice was soft, but the anger was rising. "_Christine._"

Nadir took a step forward, concerned.

"Erik, my friend, calm down," he said. "Christine needed my help to -"

"_I called him to come over because I needed help figuring out how to get rid of the wedding dress!_"

Erik turned slowly to Christine, and now all she could see was confusion.

"What...?"

Christine looked away, blinked a few times, then turned back to her husband.

"The wedding dress, Erik," she explained. "I kept it after... afterward. I-I'm not sure _why, _only... I was wearing it when I realized I loved you." After a long moment, Christine sobbed, blinked, and looked back at Erik again. "Oh, Erik, Arabelle wants to wear that dress to Cody's party! She asked me about it at dinner, and all I could think of was _Faust, _and I _knew _you would remember that night, as well! Erik, it's -"

"It's alright," he said quietly. His lips twitched tiredly in a momentary wry smile. "She mentioned it to me shortly after the boy left... Let her wear it. She'll look like a vision in it, if it can be salvaged."

Christine sighed, and pressed her lips to Erik's. She buried her face in his neck.

"Oh, Erik..."

* * *

"What lace are you using, Arabelle?"

Arabelle looked up from the sewing machine Christine had bought long ago. Charles was standing on the sofa, barefoot, while Christine pinned and tugged at a dress suit he was wearing.

"Don't move, Charles," Christine warned, just managing to move a pin out of the way as Charles shifted his weight a bit.

"I think the store clerk said it was Shantung," she replied. "Or was it Battenbourg? I'm not entirely positive, Charles."

"How did it get stained, 'Belle?" Charles asked, peering at the dress the best he could from the sofa. Christine was behind and below him, so Charles did not see her stiffen, or her eyes flash in terror.

But Arabelle did.

"Never mind how, Charles," she sighed, thinking of that final untold secret and staring at her mother. "And especially don't ask Papa, whatever you do. He's had a hard enough time, lately."

Charles didn't say anything, but he did nod and back away. Arabelle was satisfied with that response.

"I promise, Charles, when you're old enough, you'll know."

Charles rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

"I'm twelve years old, and no one tells me _anything!_" he grumbled. "I _am _old enough."

Arabelle stared at him for a moment, then got up from the sewing machine, and sat beside him on the couch.

"Oh, Charles," she sighed, gently touching the deformed half of his face. "It's not that I think you _shouldn't _know. Please, little brother, trust me when I say you'd wish I _hadn't _told you."

"But, 'Belle, I -"

"Don't, Charles!" Arabelle snapped. Then she took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes, there were tears and her voice was quiet and sad. "It's not something you want to know. It's Mamma and Papa's secret to tell, and I _will not _repeat it. I _can't, _Charles."

Charles was surprised by the intensity in his sister's soft voice. There was a certain desperation in her eyes that frightened him.

"I'm sorry, 'Belle," he whispered, looking away. Arabelle took his chin in her hand and brought his face up to look at her.

"It's alright, Charles," she said, smiling slightly. "It's just not a very pretty secret, that dress. I'm hoping I can make some better memories of it."

That was all that was said about the dress. Arabelle went back to sewing, and Christine sent Charles to play in his room. As she fed the fabric through the machine, all Arabelle could think of was what her mother had told her when she asked about the dress.

The truth - that their mother had once been so afraid of their father that she'd tried to kill herself to get away from him - had been heart-stopping. For one terrifying moment, Arabelle had been appalled by her mother - almost hated her. It sickened her that she'd felt that way about the woman who gave birth to her, but Christine's suicide attempt was also horrible. She understood that her father had been a very different person then, but had her mother been so different, too?

Looking at the dress, with its dim and faded bloodstain half-hidden by a layer of pale gold lace not entirely sewn on yet, she felt her insides clench, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she really ought to wear the dress. But Christine had assured her that Erik wanted her to wear it, so she would. And, once the lace was fully sewed on, the blood would be impossible to see. It would be like an entirely new dress.

Only now, in the silence of the room, did she remember that her mother was there. Arabelle looked up slowly, suddenly afraid that even the little she'd said was too much, but Christine was not looking at her; she was looking at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

"Thank you," she said quietly, not looking up.

* * *

Arabelle giggled in quiet excitement.

"_Yes, _Jill!" she sighed. "Oh, it's going to be _wonderful!_"

Jillianna smiled.

"It is, ithn't it?" she agreed, poking through the clutter in a corner of the old curiosity shop. Arabelle was across the small space, looking at a display of fans. One fan was topped with fluffy golden feathers that shimmered in the sunlight. The wood they'd been tied and glued to was white with tiny, delicate gold designs painted on each stick, and Arabelle grinned at how perfect it was. She was just turning to show Jill when she saw the mask uncovered by the one the older girl held.

Arabelle hurried over and reached into the line of masks, coming up with a beautiful leather one. It was white, with flecks of gold paint here and there, and golden trim. On one side, it covered only the eye, but on the other, it sloped down into an elegant curl that would sit on the wearer's jawline. The corner that just went over the eye had a cluster of tasteful fake flowers, with a few gold feathers fanning out.

"What is it, 'Belle?" Charles asked, suddenly beside her. In her excitement over the mask, Arabelle had completely forgotten that her brother had come with them. She started, then laughed at herself.

"Look, Charles!" And she held the mask out for his inspection.

In the end, Jillianna and Charles also chose masks. Jill's was a soft, pale green, with silver trim and a sheer layer of shimmering silver glaze over the pistachio paper Mache. Charles's choice was a deep, regal blue, accented in gold, and hints of purple. Laughing brightly in excitement, Arabelle almost missed the black mask on a low shelf by the door.

At first glance, it appeared simple; it was made of stiffened cloth, and tied behind the head. On closer inspection, the eye holes were rimmed with almost-black red braiding, as was the whole shape of the mask. The fabric itself was some sort of brocade cloth, with embroidered swirls in in the same red-black silk. It covered the whole face, and it reminded Arabelle strongly of her father's black leather mask. She'd seen it several times, but never had she seen Erik wear it. This one was almost exactly like it in shape, and so very lovely. Arabelle could easily picture her father in the fabric mask, wearing some dashing costume of times long past, and the image was so handsome.

They'd bought their things already, but still, Arabelle turned back.

"How much is this mask?" she asked the store owner, walking to the counter.

The man looked at the mask for a long moment, then smiled at her.

"Fifty cents," he replied, and Arabelle smiled. Erik had given her five dollars to go with, and the other mask and the fan had only cost her thirty cents so far. Even with the second mask for Erik, she would not be spending quite a dollar.

All the way home, Arabelle thought about the mask she'd bought for her father. She'd thought of how he might take her buying the mask, and really couldn't see him reacting badly, because she knew how to present it, and how to behave and what to say while presenting it to him. Eighteen years, and a bond of blood had given her the advantage over someone not related to Erik, when it came to understanding him.

She couldn't wait to show him her lovely find, and she knew he would find it wonderful, as well.

"I think he's gonna love it," Charles said as the two siblings turned into their yard. Arabelle opened the gate, and held it while Charles walked through. Then she slipped by, and latched the wooden gate behind her.

"Oh, I _know _he will, Charles," Arabelle agreed, sharing a smile with her brother.

* * *

Erik was a bit taken aback by his daughter's gift. It was beautiful, truly. But the irony of her buying him a mask, for any reason, was bittersweet. It struck very close to home, and the memories of another woman, with the same face shape, but Christine's coloring, handing him another mask caused his throat to tighten.

Arabelle, who knew very little of Erik's childhood, did not quite pick up on the emotion, but Christine did, and she surreptitiously squeezed his hand.

Still, it was a pretty thing, and the innocent eagerness in his childrens' eyes reminded him of their intent. The look on Charles's face, especially, showed him there was no pretense - not that he didn't know that already, but it was always calming to have something he thought be confirmed as right.

Once they were alone, Christine took the mask and set it aside. The dance was the next evening, and Erik, sitting so heavily on the side of the bed, suddenly did not seem well enough _at all _to be going. He looked so much older, and more frail in that moment, and she was worried. She sat beside him, her beloved Erik, and lay a gentle hand on his arm.

"Are you alright, Erik?" Christine asked, her eyes dark with worry. Absently, the hand on his arm rubbed.

Erik let out a breath, and turned a tired smile to her. His sweet, good Christine.

"Of course, my love," he said quietly, wearily. "It's been a long day, is all..."

Christine thought back to how they'd spent the day; going through clothes to find something right for a pseudo-masquerade, and then Erik's refusal to let her go up into the hot attic alone to search a few trunks. They'd both found fitting costumes somewhere along the way, but the attic's heat, coupled with the two sets of stairs to come back down, had taken its toll on Erik, and when they'd first come downstairs again, he was gasping and shaking so that Christine was sure he was having another attack, but when she tried to get him to bed, he waved away her concern, and his strength had come back to him, slowly.

Now, Christine kissed his hollow cheek, and smiled gently at him.

"Then you ought to rest," she began, but even before she could think to continue that suggestion, Erik shook his head.

"No," he replied, standing stiffly. "It's only evening, Christine. Let's go sit with the children, hm? We won't have them borh around for very much longer."

Erik's words startled Christine. She stood, and clutched his arm, suddenly frightened by that final sentence.

"What do you mean, Erik?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Seeing the fear in her eyes, and realizing the misunderstanding, he chuckled.

"I'll tell you now, then," he laughed, "though it will spoil the surprise."

Christine's grip on his arm tightened.

"What surprise, Erik?" she asked. "What surprise?"

Again, Erik laughed, though not unkindly. He smiled, and patted the hand on his arm.

"Don't look so stricken, _mon coeur,"_ he sighed. Then he leaned in close, and whispered against Christine's ear; "Cody will ask Arabelle to marry him tomorrow night at the party."

"_What?!" _Christine clapped her hands over her mouth in excitement, then threw her arms around her husband. "Oh, this is _wonderful!" _she chirped, taking Erik's hand and following him to the door. There, Erik stopped, and put one long, boney finger to his lips.

"Remember," he whispered, golden eyes dancing. "Not a word." Christine nodded, giggling like a child, and Erik kissed her. Then he opened the door, and they went to join Arabelle and Charles in the front room.

* * *

Well, I'm not entirely happy with it, but every time I tried to rewrite a part, it came out worse. I guess this is the way the story wants to play out, so here it is. I hope you guys like it.

Arabelle; would someone _please _tell me what this 'surprise' is? Or at least, could you hurry up and get to it? I think Papa's going to have an aneurism, he's so worked up.

*chibi erik is bouncing up and down with a very excited look on his face*

Erik; my girl's growing up! Oddly, I'm not as angry at you as I should be.

that's because you love her and want her to be happy. now shh, and let the nice readers get on with their day. ;)

Review, please!


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